Musings
by Zeff N Company
Summary: Oneshot collection:'He could not be a chivalrous prince, but he wanted to try.'[Hitsugaya]'One night, she had a dream.'[Nemu]'She was not here yet.'[Renji]'...every time he thought of that, he thought of her.'[Gin]
1. Prince

He remembered the stories she used to read to him against his will.

Those ridiculous foreign translated books that Kurosaki Ichigo kept bringing with him from the human world.

Those silly, childish fantasies of beautiful princesses in castles, evil dragons as their captors, and chivalrous princes to the rescue.

With all those umpteenth times of hearing her read to him about the prince's bravery and the dragon's demise, he could see the light in her eyes as she got to her favorite part. He knew what was to happen every time.

The chivalrous prince always won, the evil dragon always howled in anger as it faded away, and the chivalrous prince always rode away with the beautiful princess, always into a glorious sunset.

Sometimes, as she was buried in the book, he would imagine her as a princess.

She was innocent, beautiful, waiting for someone to come and take her away. Someone with whom she could live happily ever after, as they rode off into the glorious sunset.

A beautiful princess, waiting for her tall, dark and handsome chivalrous prince upon his great white horse to fight the evil dragon.

He was not tall; he had died short - as a child - was short and a child in his hundred-fifty years of age, and was doomed to be short and a child for the rest of his existence in Soul Society. Everyone except the still-growing Yachiru was taller than him; _Hanatarou_ was taller than him.

He was not dark. Hisagi Shuuhei was dark. Tousen Kaname was really dark.  
It was his hair - the pale silver-white - that _made_ him look a little darker, nothing to do with natural darkness, whatever the hell that had to do with anything.

He couldn't call himself handsome; not really. His early demise had blessed him with the adorable boyish features that had so many love him. Yet, his early demise had also cursed him with the adorable boyish features that had so many not take him seriously.  
He was condemned to be "cute", like a rabbit was cute. Never truly in the handsome category.

He didn't ride a great white horse; he didn't ride anything. Although the idea of noble steeds in Rukongai or Soul Society wasn't that big; there were still a couple of clowns tearing around, causing trouble and riding boars. One of said clowns had participated in the invasion to save Kuchiki Rukia's life, and now his barbaric "Bonnie-chan" had eaten its way through fourth division's herb collection.  
"Bonnie-chan" was neither great nor white, just morosely fat.

He didn't fight evil dragons. He wielded a dragon, but far be it from anything evil. Hyourinmaru was the picture of magnificence, pride and dignity in his eyes, as the legendary beast of ice and water soared in the frozen heavens. Hyourinmaru would never imprison beautiful princesses in castles and let some goof in armor beat him up to get her.  
At least Hyourinmaru was a very pale blue, _somewhat_ near white.

She would finish her story around this time, smile and call him by his pet name, and ask if he liked the story.

He would grunt and tell her he'd read better literature in his pre-Shinigami years.

And she would be upset, and he would comply and say it was not _too_ bad after all, just to get that pout off her face.

Then she would bid him goodbye as she returned to her division's headquarters, cradling the book in her arms like a precious child as she continued to dream.

And he would watch her, and he would smile. And he would mutter after her - out of earshot - that he liked that story.

He could not be a chivalrous prince, but he wanted to try.


	2. Father

**_Well, here's some good news and some bad news._**

**_The bad news: these are drabbles, a.k.a. one-shots. Though, I will be doing another hitsuhina in the very near future, so stay tuned._**

**_The good news: I updated sooner than I expected. Hoorah._**

**_The real good news: I do not own Bleach in any way at all. I'm just another dude with an embarrassingly sad life, obsessive compulsive behavior, and very few funds for Bleach._**

* * *

One night, she had a dream. She saw a girl, her father, and a lovely field of green grass and white daisies.

The father was smiling as he watched her make daisy crowns. When she calmed down, he taught her to play tunes out of grass blades. He had even made a little kite for her, and taught her to fly it in the pretty blue sky, among the fluffy white clouds.

And then she woke up, and her captain threatened to take her apart if she did not rise and get to work. She obeyed without a complaint.

Another night, she had a second dream. She saw a girl, her father, and a simple, but pretty bedroom with a desk, a bed, and a rustic lamp.

The father was holding his daughter close, comforting her from a nightmare she had. He stroked her head soothingly as her face was buried in his side. He reassured her that there was no such thing as monsters. He hummed a lullaby to help her go back to sleep. He stayed by the bed and watched over her as she finally closed her eyes and slept, this time peacefully.

And then she woke up, and found her captain torturing his latest, hideous creation of some living organism which would die either by the will of his sadistic glee, or by a complication which aroused from the unnatural mutations. She rose and prepared to clean up the inevitable mess.

Another night, she had a third dream. She saw a girl, her father, and a large building.

The father was waiting at the gates, looking into the building. He smiled as the girl emerged. He welcomed her with open arms. When she proudly produced her result slip for the year, he told her how proud he was. He agreed to buy her a special present as a reward. He brought her to a pet store, and let her pick a little bunny. It was white with a black-tipped nose and ears, and its fur was so soft.

And then she woke up, and a news came to the division that there were invaders. Her captain called her to prepare, and she obeyed. They fought a Quincy, and they lost. The Quincy had let her captain live, and she repaid him in kind with an antidote. As he left, she fell asleep, propped against the wall and unable to move.

She had a fourth dream. She saw a girl, her father, and a beautiful place in a field of green grass and white daisies.

The father was by her side, watching as she was dressed in a magnificent white gown, the veil yet to cover her face. He looked sad, despite his smile. He told her how much he loved her. He told her she would always be his little girl. As she was by his side, her hand in his, he lead her across the carpet, toward a nervous young man, stiff in his tuxedo. He moved aside, and listened as they exchanged their vows, exchanged their rings, and exchanged a kiss. As the man declared them husband and wife, he silently wept with joy.

And then she woke up, and found herself in the fourth division. She quietly awaited to be discharged, and then left for twelfth division. She came to where her captain was slowly recovering, in a state where no one could offer a hand to help. And she sat there, and waited for him as he healed. He rebuked her for her slip-up, and she apologized. And she resumed her vigil as he went silent again.

She knew he would never take her to a field of grass and daisies, or calm her from a nightmare. She knew he would never praise her for magnificent results, or give her away to a husband-to-be.

She knew he was himself; he was her captain; he was her master; and he was her father.

She liked him just the way he was.

* * *

_notnow_: thanks, both for being my first reviewer as well as for the comment. I tend to write like that, so...bear with me, please.

_ice illuser_: ...is that right? I just thought the only thing that grew was his hair...really. Guess I should pay more attention. Here's the update, though I apologize for any disappointment; I've got another hitsuhina planned, so I hope you'll wait for it.


	3. Old Teacher

**_Remember, children: your English and Literature classes are your friends. Pay enough attention, and everything you see and read looks so much better. Bleach and every piece of fanfiction looked so much better._**

**_I admit though, my Literature scores were not very pretty at all..._**

**_Bad news: no pairing this time; it would be a bit wrong. It's also not as good as I would have wanted it to be; it felt kind of impulsive, even, when I first tried to get it out._**

**_Good news: I've got something for Renji planned, as well as that second hitsuhina I mentioned. I'll do something about them both, I promise you!_**

* * *

His name was Yasutora Sado, and he was his grandson.

He was eight years old, but looked three years older with his height, his large physique and his strength. He also acted three years younger with his foul temper, his almost infantile tantrums, and his open defiance.

A pampered young brat, spoiled rotten by a rich Japanese father and a loving Mexican mother in his hometown of Okinawa, Japan.

A descendant of the Yasutora line that would someday become a giant, with enough power in his big fists to make a difference in life.

A boy who looked so much like him.

It was sort of scary to even think about, and he did not like it; he was not sure he wanted to bring up a miniature of himself.

The child appeared to not want that kind of upbringing either, when they first started living together.

He remembered when the young one had become angry when denied an ice-cream, and refused to get into the car to go home.

He remembered when the young one had broken a window with his ball when he was not allowed to play in the rain.

He remembered when the young one had picked a fight with the white kids in the other side of town that he had been forbidden to go.

He had witnessed it all, and he had wondered.

He did not understand why he was in charge of an upstart that refused to listen.

Even when the white elders had emerged and rescued their children, and the white fathers refused to be appeased by the child's uncouth, tyrannical behavior, he did not know why he pleaded for the child.

Even when they finally disappeared into their homes disgruntled, and he reached to help his young charge rise, only to get snubbed, he did not know why he bothered.

Even when a few white fathers decided to avenge their children's injuries, he did not know why he stepped forward, why he chose to take that beating, and why he continued to plead for him.

Even when the child cried, he did not know why he had given him that token his own grandfather and father had left him.

Even as he spoke, as he told the child to learn why he had those big, strong fists, he did not know why he was saying all this.

Even as they walked home together, the boy obedient for once, he did not know if he could ever understand why.

He really did not understand why he wanted the child to learn something that might make him a true-blue miniature of himself.

But until he did, as long as he had his big fists; as long as he had strength and power in them; as long as he could still make a difference in life, he would just keep on protecting this boy called Yasutora Sado.

He would just keep on teaching him.

* * *

**_A big thank you to those who reviewed. You've made my day, and now I'm on a roll. Given my obsessive behavior, this might actually last by some miracle._**

_een nihc_: I guess that's a sign of improvement, or just a fluke. Still, I'll work harder. Hope I can continue to entertain you.

_WaterLily_: I'm glad you liked it, then. My next hituhina is slightly AU (a brief warning to you all), but I'll try to keep it up to par. Though, it may contradict the first chapter slightly, so I apologize in advance.

_seal-chan_: Thank you. Ichigo and Rukia, eh? I'll try and think up something on that. There are so many pairings possible out there, and IchiRuki was one of the first to come to mind. So, one should come up soon enough.

**_I intended to dedicate this chapter to someone, but I'm not that proud of it right now._**

**_So instead, I want to thank my Literature teacher for being my patient mentor, my gentle guide, one of my first beta readers, and the greatest thing that ever happened to me in my young life as a hot-tempered student who should have known better. If school was indeed my second home, then he was my second father. Wherever he is now, I wish him well._**

**_Thank you so much, sir; you will always be my hero._**


	4. Disappointment

**_For starters, I apologize for the third chapter. I don't know about Chad's popularity rating, but I know I could have done it better. I also apologize for not getting this up sooner, because I distracted myself a tad too much._**

**_Good news: Renji's turn. Back to the sad, sad states of being, now._**

**_Bad news: Where's the girl you love when you need her? Poor tattooed dude with the funky red hair. (don't throw me to the rabid chipmunks yet; I  will write a sequel to this from Rukia's POV. Yes, I will.)_**

* * *

He sat there by the river with his hands full of flowers and a fire pit full of cooking fish.

He could see the activities of the place called Rukongai, the place he grew up in.

The place she grew up in.

He just had to lift his head a little up and to the left, and he could see three markings.

Three promises to lead a better, happier life.

Today was the anniversary of that promise-making.

He had slipped her a note under thirteenth division's door to meet him here, so they could come together to pay their respects to the three markings, to sit together, to remember why they ever chose to become shinigami. Why they fought for all they had.

She was not here yet.

He thought he had come early. He had arrived, dressed in civvies and showing off his yakuza-like tattoos for the poor, terrified villagers to see. He had run on by and ignored the trouble-making, boar-riding trio as they attempted to pick a fight. He had come straight to this place, armed with nothing more than the yukata on his back and the harpoon in his hand.

Vaguely, he could remember. That first time he decided to feed his hunger in this river, she had been there. She had criticized his splashing around like a crazy bear, and told him to keep still until he was sure. He had snapped back, but followed her instruction. And then he had caught his first fish. It had been a small, pathetic creature with a broken beak from escaping someone's fishing line, but it had been enough, and they had roasted it on a hastily made fire, and had eaten it together.

This time, he had made it a point to catch plenty, enough to completely stuff the both of them, enough to bring some back to share with the others.

But this time, he had to do it alone.

She was not here yet.

His lap felt wet as he looked down at the flowers in his hands, piled up across his thighs. She loved flowers, especially these that floated down the river and glistened from the moisture in the setting sun.

That was how she fell in love with them in the first place, he could recall. She had been criticizing his fishing skills again, because he had become impatient and tense. Then she had laughed as he fell into the water completely while missing his fifth fish in a row. Then she had stopped, staring in wonder as those same flowers came sweeping down the current, the water droplets on their petals reflecting the light of the sunset. She had picked one up and held it ever so carefully in her hands, admiring every last inch of it. And she had such a beautiful smile on her face.

This time, he had made it a point to stand there in the knee-deep water, glaring at the current until it finally brought forth its offering of flowers, so many that he almost missed one or two as he gathered them up in his hands. Gleefully, he waded to the bank with them in his grasp, not heeding for a second how wet they were and how they were making a mess on his yukata. He had smirked triumphantly as he sat down, knowing that no dumb rabbit in the world could compare to her childhood love, after all. _These_ soggy things ought to stick that beautiful smile back on her face, just as they had done before.

But this time, she was not here to laugh at his antics, or graciously take them from his hands as he held them out before him.

She was not here yet.

The sun's rays stung at his eyes, and he almost wished for his visor. But then again, he felt it better to not have it. With that visor on, he'd probably miss the beauty of watching the sun's descent into the horizon as the evening slowly became night.  
She had loved watching the sunset. She had perched on the tree branches, had stood there in the river with the flowers, had looked down at the village from the cliff where the three markings had been set up, and all against the setting sun. He knew, because he had been there, each and every time, just a step behind her.

And so, the sun was setting. He thought he had come early, but not _that_ early, after all. More about, just a little before "just in time".

She was still not here yet.

He had craned his neck to look behind him enough for it to hurt, but he could see no sign of her.

Where was she?

The fish were roasting to the point of burning, but where was she?

The flowers she loved so much were slowly drying - his yukata earning a nice dark spot in their wake - but where was she?

The sun was slowly disappearing as it sank down, but where was she?

Just where the _heck_ was she?

The last rays of orange-gold finally faded away, and the darkness of night finally set in completely.

A smoking smell filled the air to show the fish in a completely new, blackened color. Even the sticks propping them up looked charred by now.

The flowers were no longer that pretty shine they had been when there was still light to shine on them. And even there, in the fire's minimal glow, they just looked dull and sad.

He shivered slightly from the cold that had seeped from his wet yukata into his body, and the chilly night air was not much help.

Still no sign of her.

Finally, he decided it was time to give up.  
He got to his feet and kicked the sticks down, allowing the fire to claim the fish completely. Not like he could eat them in their current state anymore.  
Then, he contemptuously chucked the flowers into the fire, one by one, watching them wither and slowly turn into charcoal alongside the fish.

Finally, he was left with one flower. The most pretty one, it seemed, that he had unconsciously left for last. He stared at it, there in his hands, then back at the fire with the burning offerings.

Then he turned and scaled the bank, and took the road back toward Rukongai, and back toward Sereitei's gates, the flower threatening to become half-crushed in his strong grip.

He'd have to try again next year.

* * *

_ice illuser_: wow, the only one who reviewed in chapter 3. Thanks for that. I'll pick up the pace if I can a.k.a. I should try not to get distracted so much. Hope this one was up to standard. 


	5. Fairytale 1: The Little Dragon

**_Good news: Here it is, ladies and gents; the second hitsuhina I promised since Chapter Two._**

**_Bad news: Once again, I warn you that it is AU, and contradicts Chapter One by a lot. For both our sakes, try not to compare them too much._**

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a little princess, who lived alone in a castle, overlooking a beautiful forest. Although she was by herself, she was innocent, happy, naive, and so full of cheer and friendliness for all that she met.

One day, the little princess found a lost little dragon by a river. He was as white as the winter snow, and his eyes were like shining emeralds. He was also half her height, a tad too short to be intimidating. Still, he had terrible social skills, and nearly bit her. When she wet herself out of fear, the little dragon was taken aback, and apologized. She forgave him, and asked if he would like to come home to the castle with her.  
The little dragon agreed.

And so, the little princess and the little dragon grew up together, as best of friends and inseparable companions. Wherever one went, the other was always close by.

The little princess gave the little dragon all that he needed: a roof over his head, a place to sleep, a home to call his own, and a strangely-assorted menu that fitted his strangely-assorted diet. He never went a week by without putting away another five or six melons, and had a bad habit of spitting his seeds at the little princess.  
In turn, the little dragon gave the little princess what he could: he protected her from the forest beasts when they threatened, carried her on his back when she grew tired from their long walks, and submitted himself to being her second pillow when she wet her bed and secretly came to him in the night.

She was his "bed-wetter" girl, and he was her little, overly-serious "snowball".

They could have stayed that way, together, forever.

But they couldn't.

One day, a king from faraway lands came to know of the little princess, and decided to take her into his kingdom. He was the image of friendliness, compassion and wisdom to the little princess, and she befriended him easily. The little dragon did not wish to lose the little princess, and came to dislike the king.

Soon, the king started to send his knight after the little princess, to have her brought to his side. The knight was cunning and skilled with his sword, and made many attacks on the castle where the little princess lived. The little dragon grew angry at this, and went to battle with the knight. Each time, the little dragon fought with every ounce of his small body. Each time, the knight backed off, for the king had instructed him not to kill just yet.

Then the king sent a messenger to the little princess. The messenger spun deceitful tales about the little dragon, telling the little princess that the little dragon was an evil demon, plotting to kill her good friend, the king. Shocked by this news, the little princess became greatly upset with the little dragon, and asked him to leave. The little dragon refused, and continued to stay, to battle with the knight and keep him away from the little princess.

Finally, the king himself arrived for the little princess. This time, the king would not be denied.

As the little dragon once again tried to stop him, the king struck the little dragon down where he stood. Then the king walked straight into the castle and took the princess into his arms. Then the king carried the princess back to his lands far, far away, where the little dragon would not be able to find them.

And the little dragon could only lie there, silently rebuking himself for failing the little princess.

And the little dragon could only watch every sunset, for the rest of his days, hoping - _yearning_ - that the little princess would come back to him and the castle they called home.

And the little dragon could only wait.

Dragons were never destined to live happily ever after.

* * *

_een nihc_: Thanks for the confidence vote; I'll keep working harder as long as I have this time in my hands! I'm glad you liked Chapter Four as well.

_Faye Chua_: Thanks for the compliment. After watching those small snippets on Chad's childhood, Chapter Three just came to form. At least it fit your taste, so I'm happy.

_ice illuser_: From what I know, poor Mr. "Funky Red Hair" will be full of angst when it comes to Rukia. Still, an old friend of mine (most know her as Howling WereWolf) was kind enough to feed me an idea about Renji and Rukia's little rabbit. I might try it out, if I can.


	6. Tell

**_Bad news: My inspiration flow is slowly drying up. All those little thoughts I had are slowing down, which means I won't be able to update as quickly as usual unless I can think of something, fast._**

**_Good news: Ichigo's turn.  
I might actually try Renji and the bunny, although the idea still seems rather strange. I'm also open to suggestions, but it all really depends if I can actually get it down in words. Still, wish me luck, all!_**

* * *

Almost every other day, it is a different grave to visit.

Almost every other day, it is another small bunch of flowers for someone dead.

Almost every other day, it would be just casual conversation, talking simply about what went on while so-and-so finally got taken up into Soul Society.

But today; today is special.

Today is _her_ day.

Early in the morning, he rises, as he always does, and kicks the annoying animated lion plushie out of his face before getting dressed for the day ahead. He knocks a couple of times at his closet door, saying that he's leaving, and does that regardless of an answer.

Some time later, he is out and on his way, yet another bunch of flowers in his duffel bag. He stops at the spot where the road slopes upward, to where he will find the stairs to take him to that place.

He scales. Then, he climbs.

Finally, he arrives. There is row after row of stone markers, all lined up. He passes by each one, careful not to upset the offerings placed there. As he stops at one marker, he drops his duffel bag on the path, and carefully weeds out the surrounding area once more. Then he takes the flowers and lays them down, at the foot of the marker. Then he kneels, staring at the name engraved on stone.

He starts to talk to her.

He tells her about the family. He tells her about how his sister has taken a shine toward his giant, half-Mexican friend, and how strange they look when walking together. He tells her about how his youngest sister freaked out when she discovered a pornographic magazine in his room - which was really the lion's fault, not his - and nearly called psychiatric help for him, despite all protests that the magazine was not his. He tells her about how his father - the personification of moronic goodwill - took it upon himself to educate him better on how the birds and the bees really worked, claiming it was practice for his sisters in the near future.

He tells her about his school life. He tells her about his giant, half-Mexican friend, and how he takes it upon himself to protect everyone else, even though it can be rather uncomfortable at times. He tells her about the practical, narrow-minded Quincy, and how he has started a personal quest to make a wardrobe full of blue-and-white outfits with the weird symbols on them. He tells her about the ever-cheerful girl in his class, and how she is constantly trying to keep the group together with movies, lunch dates, trips to theme parks, anything; she really tries so hard.

He tells her about his new activities. He tells her about the short girl with the bunny-craze, and how she was plotting to turn his room into a bunny shrine with each passing day. He tells her about the tall boy with the strange red hair and the tattoos, and how he spent three days figuring out that the answering machine did not have any mod souls hidden within it, thankfully without taking it apart. He tells her about the spirits he ran into, and that each one of them was now in a better place, perhaps with less suffering.

He tells her about another year that she had to miss out on. He tells her about the birthdays, the school events, the festivals, the expeditions, the fireworks displays, the occasional strange occurrence near the house, the simple, yet strange once-every-few-night's visit from one short captain, two lieutenants, and a bunny-lover girl, and their sitting in front of his television trying to understand _Jeopardy_.

Then he stops, because he does not know what else he can say, what else he can tell her. He kneels there, silent, staring at the marker and the name. He wonders why she is the one that had to go, all those years back. He wonders if a difference could have been made if he had been a little more careful. He wonders if a difference could have been made if he had succeeded in killing the monster that had taken her from him.

He bows his head and hides his eyes from the marker, lest she see the depressing expression on his face. He tells her that he is sorry, for everything he could not do. He tells her how sorry he is that she could not be there to witness his sisters' growing up. He tells her how sorry he is that she could not be there for his promotion to high school. He tells her how sorry he is that she could not be there to keep their moronic father in check. He tells her that he is truly sorry.

And he says the words he says every year, alone by that marker, where his father and sisters are not there to watch him, where he has the place to himself - and the occasional spirit waiting to be sent away - where no one can disturb him. He says the words that he will never grow tired of saying, ever. He says the words once again.

_"...I have missed you so much... I still do."_

* * *

_Nelia-chan_: It is? It does! Oh my, I had no idea! ...um...I mean...there, there, it's okay. Things will get better, right...right?

_FaYE04_: Well then, I'm glad you didn't see the first draft; my beta reader was so pissed at how short, vague and shabby it was, she flew at me in all her cybernetic fury, and refused to let me off the hook until I did a better job. Thus, that "awesomely-detailed" piece of work is also thanks to her (though after what happened, I'm glad she's not my wife...AH! You didn't hear me say that!).

ChibiRulz YanLan: Well thanks, and...um...yikes. Please be appeased; I won't be mean to them again! ...not for a while, anyway...  
Ah yes, and about Rukia's turn? I'm...eheh...still working on it. It'll probably be another sad, sad thing, unless I can get a better idea. Until then, I will work harder!

_WaterLilly_: ...wow, really?  
O' King Aizen - call for your soul slayer, call for your "emo-glasses", call for your followers two, and _**run for your life**_.

_ice illuser_: a little angst never hurt anyone. I like the occasional angst and tragedy myself.


	7. Mistakes

**_Good news: My boss threw me an idea, so here's the next chapter. I apologize for the wait, as well as the slightly lower-than-usual standard. I'll do better next time. This time, it's a not-so-famous Quincy's turn._**

**_Bad news: My boss threw me an idea. (How did she find out? I kept those drafts under lock and key! This does not bode well with my potential bonuses at all... Wait a minute...she likes Bleach, too...?)_**

* * *

There was a time when his people had been glorious. They had been remembered as noble warriors. They had been referred to as figures of greatness.

They had been heroes.

Yet, they had made a mistake somewhere. They definitely did.

When the Death Gods protested, and they did not listen, they made their second mistake.

When the Death Gods fought them, and they fought back with no repentance for where they were wrong, they made their third mistake.

Three mistakes.  
That was all it took to end a race of truly talented people. That was all it took to cause unnecessary bloodshed. That was all it took to cause unneeded pain for so many who were worth more.

That was all it took to land him so low in his life.

As a naive little boy, he had wanted so much to be a protector, no matter the cost. He had vowed to do what it took to save the world.

That was his first mistake.

As he grew up, he continued fighting with all that he had. He fought for souls, for ordinary civilians, for the once glorious name of his people, and for a woman. When he married the one he loved, he persevered in his task.

That was his second mistake.

For every mistake, the third time is the last, because by then it hurts too much to try again.

He realized that when he held the barely breathing little body in his hands, his wife unmoving on the bed. He had only made it in time to see her fade away, her strength gone, and the weak little infant who could barely cry.

His third mistake was not being there when she needed him most.

And it hurt too much for him to try again.

He could only stand there, the tiny life form held securely in his embrace - making a mess on his already bloodied blue-and-white battle outfit - staring at the one he loved lying there on the bed. He could not move, could not even think of what to do next.  
Nothing registered anymore; not the meager medical knowledge he had which should revive the child; not the warrior inside him which should keep him going, noble and glorious as a hero should be.  
All he could do was continue to stand there, regardless of the pathetic mewls from his son, regardless of the help that was coming in from the open door, regardless of someone telling him to let go of the child and sit down; it was all over.

_Over_...

He could hear a gentle voice telling him to let go, there was nothing more that could be done; let them save the child.

When he finally did that, he stared down at his grubby hands, at his ruined costume, at himself.

..._all over_...

He had learnt his lesson; received the message.

Enough was enough.  
Enough with the glory.

Enough with being noble.

Enough with the greatness.

Enough with saving the world.

Enough with trying to play hero.

Enough with making these stupid, stupid mistakes.

* * *

_ChibiRulz YanLan_: Thanks! I'm still okay! And about Chapter 6? Ichigo's talking to his mom.  
Yes. Renji and the bunny drabble. Howling WereWolf named him Chappy-san.

_bubblegum2000_: Wow, thanks. Those three reviews say a lot and mean a lot to me. I'll try and keep things going, though I'll probably get less time on my hands in the near future. Work to do, bills to pay, and all that.

_ice illuser_: Yeah, that was Karin. No matter how big he is, it's what's inside that counts in the end, isn't it?  
Urahara and Yoruichi, eh? Hmm...I'll think about it. Howling WereWolf's school friend suggested Gin and Rangiku, as well. Gives me things to think about, that's for sure.

_Nelia-chan_: If I really sound like a girl, then I'm in trouble. I'm a guy in my early twenties living alone, and most of my social life is online. Touché, right below the belt...I think I need to hang out with my male colleagues at the bar more often (them to their beers...me to my coke...).  
And on that note, my feet are considered in the "big" area, though not by that much. I'd think it runs in the family from my father's side.

_WaterLilly_: Heh...never figured myself as poetic; just sentimental. Still, I'll try and do what I can.

_SGL_: Thanks for your comment; I'll keep striving to improve.

_seal-chan_: Thank you! And I will!


	8. Atone

**_Good news: Rukia's turn, just like I promised. This one is set really early (your guess just how early)._**

**_Bad news: I have no idea if there should be a pairing for this; I honestly don't know._**

**_Additional: Celeste1's collection "Bleach Drabbles" has been a great help to me. Many thanks to her._**

* * *

She had just been doing her duty.

She was only following her orders - eliminate the attacking hollow, send the terrified spirit back up to Soul Society, resume patrolling the area until her shift was over, then go back and meet with Renji at their rendezvous.

She did not expect to find him.

She had only the intention of doing her job and doing it right.

It had been raining, and she had been eager to complete the task at hand as soon as possible.

The hollow had been her primary concern, and she had not bothered to turn and look at the one she was rescuing from danger.  
As the hollow lashed out, she had sliced him neatly in half, purifying him for his return to Soul Society. He had dissolved away into the air, as he should, and she did not even receive a scratch.

Then her focus had shifted to the spirit she was to seal.  
He had apparently been a poser with no idea that he was dead - run over flat by a truck - and was wondering why he couldn't voluntarily relieve himself on the side of the house anymore. When she approached him with her soul slayer, he had freaked out and threatened to attack her if she came a step closer. Then she had kicked him over and stamped his forehead, sending him on his way to the next world.  
Her job had been finished, and she was ready to move along.

But that was when she heard it.

It was soft, barely audible laughter over the pattering rain.

It was the giggle of someone young, barely emerging from infancy.

It was _his_ laughter.

She did not want to believe it.

Then she saw him.

Behind the glass doors of a residence, sitting there on the floor with a little rubber ball in his chubby hands, was a little boy, almost a toddler. He had fuzzy orange hair on his head, his eyes were deep pools of brown and young innocence, and his curious, friendly smile lit up his entire face as little fingers reached forward to the door; to her.

The little boy had _his_ face.  
There was so much that was different - the hair color, the eyes, the size, even - but it was still _his _face.

The child reached forward still, his palm flat against the cool glass surface, waiting expectantly as he watched her. He continued to smile as she finally stepped forward, standing directly before him with only that door as the barrier between. She stared into his happy, kittenish eyes, her own wide with shock and confusion.

He was not supposed to be here. He had died, hadn't he?  
She knew because it had been her blade that was thrust through his heart; her hands that were drenched in his blood; her ears that had heard him whisper his last words; her will that enabled her to finish what she started by dragging his broken body home.

She had been the one to take his life from him.

So what was he doing here?

Unaware of the turmoil within the girl's heart, the child pushed himself onto his unsteady legs, and pressed both hands on the door for support as he looked up at her with adoration that only his young, naive innocence could allow. He babbled something incoherent to her ears and continued to wait for her to do something. He continued to smile at the strange "big sister" that was outside in the rain, waiting for her to talk to him.

She continued to stare, to take in this foreign being that should not be existing. She had to be dreaming, she reasoned; the rain was finally messing with her mind and doing strange things to her vision. That was why she was looking at the face of her dead friend on this child's head.  
This could not be happening.

Then the child pushed himself upright, tilted back, and lost his balance as he dropped back onto his rump without much dignity. Blinking in surprise and confusion, his smile disappeared, and he whimpered a little for his mother.

She had no idea why she knelt down then, lowering herself to gently look at the troubled little one. She had no idea why she placed her hand on the glass door, earning his attention as he stopped to look at her again.

She had no idea why she smiled at him.

She had no idea why it warmed her heart when his smile returned to his face and he giggled as he reached forward again.

She had no idea why she had shook her head and whispered to him, through the glass, to just stay put and not do something silly like that again.

She had no idea why she chose to stay right there, kneeling by a glass door and watching a child attempt to play with her despite the door, instead of clocking out of her shift and joining Renji at their special meeting place, as she had agreed to do.

She had no idea why this child affected her so much. Even if he had _his_ face, this should not be the case.  
Yet, it was happening, and she had no idea why.

Then she heard the child's mother coming, and she watched as the woman with the same orange hair gently picked up her son, cooing to him as he cuddled contentedly in her embrace. She continued to follow them with her eyes, as the mother carried the little one inside, and he waved to her, babbling a little.

She did not know why she felt that way, but she felt certain of one thing, now: _he_ had come back, had given her a reprieve; a second chance to make things right. She had been given the allowance to atone for the past.

He had no memory of her, and he now answered to a different name.  
Over time, perhaps he would no longer be able to see her. Perhaps he would forget her, and live his own life. Perhaps he would grow up, get married, have children of his own, die peacefully in his old age, but never see her face or know of her presence.

But she wanted to be there with him - for him - for as long as she could come to this area. She wanted to slay every hollow in the place and surrounding area with the knowledge that she was keeping him safe.

She wanted to return his gesture; to answer the words he once said to her, for her ears only.

_**"...Kaien-dono...  
"From now on, I will always be here for you, too."**_

* * *

_**I'll start by mentioning that I have really too little idea about what Ichigo's eye color is, so I guessed by looking at fanart. Don't quote me, please.**_

_Faye Chua_: It's fine; I'm not updating as regularly as I used to, anyway.  
And I'm glad to know that Ryuuken is more well-known than I had thought.

_seal-chan_: And I thought I had made him sound like a kid... Thanks for the confidence boost!

_Nelia-chan_: Well, guess I'm that one thorn among the roses, eh? Though, I'm still proud of what I'm doing (and if it wins me approval from some beautiful ladies, why not?).  
Jinta and Ururu? Better find out more about those two, then.

_ice illuser_: Yup, it's Ryuuken. And I will try and get that drabble of Renji and Chappy-san out, as well as something for Gin and Rangiku.


	9. Mutualism

**_Good news: Yes! I bring you Gin! And Rangiku, too (from ol' Ginny's POV)._**

**_Bad news: None that I can think of...a good sign, it is._**

_**  
**In dedication to Fino's "Fix You"._

* * *

"Feed a dog for three days, and he's your best friend for life."

That's what they all liked to say, anyway.

He always found it amusing, how a dog's loyalty was decided by his stomach.

But every time he thought of that, he thought of her.  
He recalled his housemate, with her honey-blonde hair and her motherly ways with him.  
He remembered how he had first offered her food and a home with him, and she had been by him ever since.

On the rare occasion, he would wonder if that saying could apply to him and her.

He had lived alone for a long time before he met her. He had found and lived in that shabby little hut by himself, scrounging up foodstuffs for just one mouth to feed, and going wherever he pleased for as long as it took before returning to the empty, silent, shabby hut.

That day he found her, he had been gathering food to store away for some time; save him the trouble of foraging too often. He had not expected to discover her sprawled across the sand, weak from hunger.  
But she had been there, and he had found her, and he had both arms full with food, more than enough for just himself. The reasonable thing to do was feed her, which he did.  
There was no arguing to that.

But then, he had brought her back to live with him. When she had gained enough strength back, he had taken her into the shabby hut he called home, had laid her down on the discarded mat he used as a bed, and covered her with the stolen sheet he used as a blanket. And he had sat there, watching her, feeding her every now and then when she was awake enough for it.  
When she had her energy back, he had foraged again, and came back with another mat and sheet for her. Since then, they had always slept next to each other, with just the edge of the mats between them.

Since then, he would awaken to her soft breathing in the silent, cold air. He would rise carefully and sneak out without waking her, and go off on his own, coming back either with food or another "present" of sorts, but usually with a number of cuts and bruises from slight conflicts with others in the district.

After three days, such an arrangement seemed to have been so since forever.

He wondered if he had fed her his hard-earned food - and was still feeding her his harder-to-earn food - just because some old saying was being applied in his mind.  
He wondered if he had taken her into his home, just because he could not just leave her out there to die.  
He wondered, especially, if his letting her into his life had been out of compassion, or something else.

There had been times when he knew that he would take a long time to return, that he might be gone for days, maybe weeks. There, alone in the streets, he would think about her.  
Would she be right where he left her, sleeping in the bed and blanket he had helped her acquire?  
Would she be sitting there and huffing, angry that he had not said a word to her before taking off into the night - or early morning - like that?  
Or would she be gone, tired of waiting for him endlessly, and off to seek a better life?  
A life that did not require his presence...did not need his existence...

It surprised him how much that last thought sent an almost desperate panic in his head, his body itching in equal urgency to hurry back and be sure of the situation.

But he was never disappointed. Every time he returned, she would be there. If she was awake, she would get to her feet and run to meet him, angry at him for not saying anything to her, yet worried over his latest collection of minor injuries. If she was asleep, he was always compelled to poke her for the fun of it, at which point she would simply flex her fingers and continue sleeping.  
He was not sure which way he preferred to be welcomed home; both were equally as appealing to him.

Those times she was asleep or not running to get him some bath water from the river - which was not that clean, anyway - he used to think further. He used to ask himself why she never left. In her position, he probably would have moved along, found a more secure setting to live in. Yet, here she was, a permanent fixture in this place. It was always a little harder to think about what life would be like without her there; she always was there.  
Those times, he used to wonder why.

One night, after a long period of his absence, they were once again side by side. She was asleep in her bed, breathing muffled by the sheet, and he was on his back, staring up at the ceiling and lost in his thoughts.  
That was when her hand had snuck under his covers and grasped the sleeve of his yukata, as though insuring against the probability of his disappearing again. He had not moved to respond, but looked over at her from the corner of his eye. She just continued to sleep, looking ever so peaceful regardless of the grip on his sleeve.

Perhaps, he mused, she preferred to stay until his return - often with the promise of food - instead of foraging for herself. Perhaps she'd rather sleep in that lonely little hut until he slid into his mat next to hers, instead of finding her own sleeping quarters.  
Perhaps she just needed someone to come home to her every now and then.  
Someone to wait for.

Reaching over, he had gently pried her fingers from his sleeve, and laid her arm down on the mat. And he had held her hand in his, the fingers intertwining as he finally closed his eyes to sleep.

As long as that was the case, it was fine with him.

As long as he needed someone there, waiting for him...

As long as she needed someone there, returning to her...

As long as they had each other to satisfy those simple needs, it was perfectly fine with him.

* * *

_ice illuser_: Yes, it was. And here's your wish come true: the update!

_Faye Chua_: Ah, thank you so much (both for the comment as well as the information). And yes, poor Rukia, indeed; being the target of so many angst, tragedy and drama stories makes a pretty sad life - and I'm not helping her situation at all.

_Nelia-chan_: That image of a few dozen sick, perverted gay rapists in front of their computers has pretty much burned into my mind...  
Actually, I just assume most of them are female, since my writing apparently appeals more to the ladies than the men. A good example is the 10-chapter story I did for Fruits Basket some time back.  
And yes, I've decided to do something for Jinta, Ururu and Urahara. I might squeeze in Yoruichi somewhere, but it's still under consideration.


	10. Reasons

_**Yes, everyone, I'm still alive. I'm just slowing down.**_

_**Good news: It's an update; hoorah.**_

_**Bad news: I've been suckered with a number of deadlines I'll be having trouble meeting. Why is this damn little shit so short, anyway?**_

* * *

It was inexcusable, really.

What she did, she knew, was not permitted pardon.

She had, after all, betrayed; turned her back on all that should have meant something to her and her clan.

She had dashed all that she had to hold true upon the ground and trod all over it for the sake of one man called Urahara Kisuke. That one man she had grown up beside, trained and played together with. For his sake, she forsook her position's.

But she had no regrets about that. For a long, long time, she had no regrets.

She did not regret running out on a life of duties, nor did she wish she could return to a life of honorable servitude to the general population. She did not mourn leaving all those who expected so highly of her, nor did she miss those who worshiped her very being.

No regrets at all.

No, she did not miss the little girl who stumbled after her, stuttering and flushing with her nervousness. She did not miss the child who tried so hard to please her with everything she could do.

She did not miss that sweet young lady called Soi Fong, whom she had seen as a baby sister to watch over.

_"Why didn't you take me with you...Yoruichi-sama...?"_

Neither did she miss the lad of his rich house, struggling so hard to grasp the concept of games. She did not miss him, either; not him, not his stiff schooled formalities, not his confusion at the slightest bit of mirth she targeted at him, not his solemn determination to train himself to keep up with her, just so they could hold onto one - just one - decent round of fun for a while before the elders caught whiff of anything.

She did not miss that innocent little boy called Kuchiki Byakuya, whom she had taught to play tag.

_"...this time, I **will** catch you..."_

Not pardonable, what she did, but without regrets. Not forgivable, but without laments. Not excusable, but without mourning of past times.

What had been done, was done. She had lived a hundred years knowing that, and would probably live another hundred years knowing that.

She did not miss, did not lament, did not regret, did not mourn.

She had been around far too long to hold onto such things of mortal origin; things that were inherited from having lived once.

All she had to give those that she left behind to move on, were words that she had to say. And said those words, she did.

_"Forgive me, but I have my reasons."_

The afterlife was far too long for anything more or less.

* * *

_Nelia-chan_: one can only dream now, can he?

_Random Prophet_: ...um...what? Well, if you could consider Ichigo and Renji as the French and the bunnies, whatever makes you happy.

_ice illuser_: I personally found it a little rushed, but I guess that's just me. Still, glad you liked it.

_jy_: Wow, really? I'm flattered; thank you.

_AnimeGirl622_: Yes, you're right about the pairing (Heaven and many a fan forbid me pair them with anyone else...) Thanks for that compliment; I'll and get more to write on this favored coupling.  
And yes, Renji's been stuck with a lonely life for too long, and I'm not helping him. Heh.  
You're also one of those few people who likes that Ryuuken bit; it's another of those chapters I feel was too rushed in doing.

_een nihc_: Ain't that the truth; I always felt the same way until I acquired my hamster Moonie and the neighbor's kid Kenny came along. As much as both got to me, they grew on me; coming home was better with them around.


	11. Wait

_**Good news: Another update; what can I say?**_

_**Bad news: My chest seized up for half a second (or less) while I was co-working a script with Jimmy. Said Freakazoid "quarterback" nearly killed me when he throttled me on the couch so I could "keep still and relax" while he called his sister for advice.  
I'm okay now, just sore and tired (Damnit, a good set of ribs nearly crushed by a freakin' psyched Neanderthal! I'm thankful for Jimmy's painfully big show of concern, by the way).**_

* * *

She could not even bring herself to be angry anymore.

Or sad.

Or both.

She just felt so very, very tired.

Once again, Gin had left home without a word. And she could only watch his back as he disappeared. No warning, no parting words, not even a promise of return.

She was just too tired to get emotional about it all over again.

It had happened, had passed her by; she accepted that, did not mind it that much now.

She had her priorities, her list of things to do.

She had others to look out for; others who were in more pain than she was.

"You alright, taichou?" she would call after him.

"..." he would answer first, then keep on stepping forward until he turned the corner and walked out of the office. "...I have some matters to attend to; stay here and finish your paperwork."

She would agree, then wait until he was gone before slacking on the couch.

There never was any paperwork left anymore; he always finished it.

Sometimes, if he did manage to leave out one or two articles, she would make the effort to look them through. There hardly were those times, though.

Sometimes, she would follow when he was unaware, watch him quietly as he slipped into the Fourth Division.

Either way, the timid Fourth Division members did not mind either of them as they worked.

And there, outside the ward, she would watch him sit down carefully. She would watch him take a pale hand in his his, or run fingers through untied hair, or simply not move.

He had stopped talking to her for a while now; he only watched, relenting just to urge her to hurry up and come back.

He only waited, now.

She, too, only waited, now.

When one thought a little further about it, that was all they could really do anymore, for now...

They could only hope the ones they cared for came home to them.

They could only wait.

* * *

_**It's Rangiku! I can't believe I was able to do her this soon, but I did! I still have it after all (and boy, do I need to calm down and breathe deeply...)**_

_**Additional: not really Rangiku-Hitsugaya, it's still Rangiku-Gin; I've always felt the two were more mother-son or older sister-younger brother like, that she'll always look out for the little boy genius as he looks out for her.**_

_notnow_: Well, with all those theories revolving around Ichigo and Kaien, this was bound to happen, I suppose.

_Imaginator_: Thank you! A good starting chapter decides if the reader reads the rest; glad you liked it.

_ice illuser_: That's right; one about Yoruichi-san! I've always found her to be an interesting character, but I haven't really had the guts to write anything about her until now; just not enough data.

_AnimeGirl622_: Yeah, I actually rather like that one myself. It's also what moved me to do this one.

_Amona_: Thanks for the feedback; hope you like this payoff chapter from Rangiku's POV.

_amwong88_: Well, I don't get these reviews often, where my reviewer tells me which chapter was his/her favorite. Thanks, I'll try not to disappoint you.


	12. For the Best

_**Good news: I still live.**_

_**Bad news: Something a...little...different from the norm. I suspect some people might not find it to their taste, but...oh well.**_

_**WARNING! This story is from a VERY strange point of view. Be ready to be appalled/upset/disgusted by a twisted man's way of thinking.**_

_**If you are ready, continue to read on.**_

* * *

The black pup had arrived somewhere in autumn, in the display window on the shop by the curb. She was so very small, so very innocent and so very adorable; a sight for sore eyes.

The man had lived in Room 05 for some time, and had come to notice the black pup there. He had looked at her, as she had looked at him. He had been alone, then, as she was alone in that window.  
With that brief moment of acknowledgement, he had passed her by.

It was somewhere in late autumn when the man came back. The window had filled up, by now, and viewers were spoiled for choice. The black pup was still there, waiting and hoping. That was when he had returned, this time with a child. The child had seen another that was next to her in that window, and he pleaded with the man. The man relented, and they went into the shop. The child picked out a timid little yellow dog, and its companion - a young red hound with his teeth in everything - _had_ to come along; the shopkeeper kept insisting he would make a fine watchdog someday.  
As the child played with the little yellow dog - assaulted on the side by the young red hound - the man looked once more at the black pup; she once more looked back at him. She was still so very small, still so very adorable...still so very innocent.  
The very sight compelled him to do what had to be the best for her.

That autumn day, the man led the child home, and they had three new companions.

In the seasons that followed, they settled in.  
The child and his little yellow dog were inseparable, one hardly seen without the other; the child took care of the little yellow dog's every need - feeding, grooming, training, bonding.  
The young red hound tore up many things in his stay - upholstery, socks - always the left sock, shoes - always the right shoe, shirts, carpets. He was next to impossible to train, and became more trouble than worth. The red hound was put up for adoption, and soon went to the loud uncouth barbarian in Room 11, living with a hyperactive little girl and a dozen other animals of equal or more rowdiness.  
The man was practically put up on a pedestal, adored by the black pup so much that she followed him everywhere, worshipped the ground he tread upon, loved him without question or condition. He, in turn, made it worth her while - he had many kind words for her, allowed a special spot for her to sleep in his room, constantly rewarded her with her favorite toys, protected her from the neighborhood mutts, yet allowing her to socialize with the white pup down by Room 10.  
He wanted what was best for her.

When the child had grown up, he moved into Room 03, not too far away from his original home. The little yellow dog, now a well-groomed, fully trained animal, went with him, continuing to be utterly faithful to his master. That did not matter, so long as it pleased the both of them.  
The red hound had moved on, out of Room 11 and into the neighboring Room 12, where a prissy, wealthy youth took residence. By then, the hound had at least learnt to stop eating footwear and synthetic rugs, and was showing more signs of becoming the guard animal he was destined to grow up into. The barbarian and his collection of party animals had not minded in the least, so long as the hound bothered to pay them visits every once in a while.  
Now, with Room 05 all to themselves, the man continued to raise the black pup like his own. Theoretically, she was no longer a pup, but it did not matter to either of them; he was her master, and she was the small, adorable and innocent little creature that he brought home with him.  
And he would give what was best for her.

Then the time came when the man had to go away. The child agreed to keep an eye on his black pup while he went about preparations outside of home. So, one day, the man packed a bag of necessities and walked out the door without turning back.  
The black pup was heartbroken by this temporary abandonment that she came to perceive. She ignored the child's shows of concern, rejected the little yellow dog's attempts to socialize with her, and not even the white pup she liked could rouse her from her mourning. Slowly, as the days passed, she became more and more upset, and more and more angry. She once launched herself at the child, and picked a fight with both the little yellow dog and the white pup - both fights were short-lived; the latter parties had been unwilling to bring it any further.

That was when the man finally came home.  
It was only a temporary arrangement - now that all the preparations had been finalized, they were ready for their big move - he, the child, and a new associate; the three of them would depart from the neighborhood and work something out on their own - something the man was certain would be a great, memorable success.  
There was only one thing left to do, now.

The child set his little yellow dog loose, encouraging the animal to go find the white pup from Room 10 and play for a bit while he was busy. The little yellow dog - eager to please the child he adored - did just that, bounding off and away from Room 03.  
The child then returned to the man's side, ready to help him do what had to be done.  
The man knew that they could not bring the dogs with them; it was not a matter of hassle or any other inconvenience, really...they were just unable to do so.  
And the man wanted what was best for her - his black pup.

The man called to the black pup, and she came to him immediately, overjoyed to see him again. He allowed her to climb into his lap and lick at his fingers as she liked; allowed a few moments to scratch her behind her ears, run his fingers through her beautiful black coat, mutter soothing words of love to his little pet...

Then he pushed back some of the fur and plunged the needle into her small body, his thumb slowly pushing in the chemical that would end her pain once and for all. He was certain that she did not feel it at all - the momentary sting, or her life fading from her very being. She had looked up at him in that moment, but he smiled at her and stroked her a final time.  
Then he left her on the couch and departed. The child went with him, and they left to meet with their associate.

The white pup showed up then, bristling and growling up at the two men in a vicious manner that appeared inappropriate for his size.

The man regarded the white pup, and remembered how much his black pup had liked playing with this same white pup. He requested the child to retrieve his case from the table.  
Then he knelt down and called gently to the white pup. The white pup approached slowly - confused and angry, the white pup still somewhat trusted this man.  
The man continued to call to the white pup as the child returned with what he needed.

This was all for the best, after all. All for his black pup.

As the white pup finally came to him, he took out a second needle.

He only wanted what was best for her.

* * *

_**A hasty put-together as a treat for Howling WereWolf in this "year of the dog". And yes, I'm slow.**_

_**If that warning wasn't very useful or helpful and has you still wanting me dead, I can only apologize for not fully steeling you for what was up there.**_

_**So...any guesses on who's who?**_

_**... Yes, I'm also depraved, aren't I? Well, at least it makes a fiction idea, doesn't it?**_

_AnimeGirl622_: I agree; I hope to see more of her, myself (not to mention her, well...so sorry, insensitive male hormones speaking here!)

_bubblegum2000_: I've been a fan of that sort of relationship for a long time, so much so I _might_ be accidentally influencing my beta-reader to do the same...hopefully nothing detrimental to her personality...

_Nelia-chan_: ...  
The HitsuHina hints - spot on.  
The capitalized 'rape' - ...what...?

_Citatus_: Indeed, I do; I just find them to be opportunities for distracting myself, unfortunately...then again, Lexi's Christmas salad and Marco's fudge are great stuff.

_Kissed by Kakashi_: Your choice of penname really cracks me up. Thank you for your feedback, by the way.  
If only Gin wasn't evil, indeed...


	13. Moment of Need

_**Good news: Here's the next one!**_

_**Bad news: Surf1 kicks. Badly. I hate Surf1. Computer's breaking down, so I'm stuck with Marco's old rental and Surf1 until the technician can get over and help me fix up...ah well, I'm grateful I get to go online at all anyway.**_

_**Another one for Chad. Hopefully, it will help with the trauma I caused in the previous chapter.**_

_**I'm still sorry for upsetting, but not sorry I did it...oh come on, it came out better than I expected!**_

* * *

There would come a time, someday - a time when he would no longer have to use those big fists.

Ever since the day he was born, he had had those big fists of his. He had slowly learnt to use them, then the right way to use them.

He had used his fists to fight for himself - to prove to the world that they could not pick on him; he was stronger than all of them put together. So he started to have his fists strike out at the other kids. Even if they outnumbered him, he could take them all; he was just so much stronger and tougher than them. Of course, that had led to trouble, and trouble led to dangerous, reckless violence. Had his grandfather not stepped out that day, he would have been dead or maimed in some way.  
Then came the time he could no longer used his fists for himself.

He had used his fists to fight for his grandfather - the old man had always been strong, but no one man was his own mountain. He and his grandfather looked like mountains of men, but they were still men - men could not be alone. So he started to use his fists for his grandfather - he used them to chase off ignorant white punks; he used them to help in the crop fields; he used them to build that shed to house the dried produce for storage.  
And he used them to dig that hole and lay his grandfather into the ground on the day the old man's strength finally gave out.  
Then came the time he could no longer used his fists for his grandfather.

He had used his his fists to fight for the little cockatiel - the bird that no one wanted; the little creature that everyone feared, maybe even despised for unknown reasons save one - it was a jinx. He did not see that; only saw that the little bird was lonely and sad, unable to protect itself and unable to do anything about the strange accidents that happened to the people who cared for it. So he took it upon himself to use both his fists - and his whole strong body - to always protect the cockatiel that could not protect itself. It had hurt, doing that - falling beams, motorcycles, cars, invisible monsters. The little bird had constantly apologized to him, begging him to give up and leave it alone, but he kept on going.  
Finally, the spirit within the cockatiel found peace and departed for paradise, searching for family that had already passed on.  
Then came the time he could no longer used his fists for the little cockatiel.

He had used his fists for his best friend - the boy in Mashiba Junior High that had orange hair and fought like a tiger. He had first defended that boy and taken a beating for him. The boy proceeded to mispronounce his name, and that started a deep friendship between them; they were the ones who stood out because they were different on the outside, and they found support in each other's comradeship.  
Somewhere - somehow - in that equation, things had started to change.  
He had always known himself to get hurt and experience pain because of his way of life - not fighting back for himself, always fighting for others. His best friend had changed everything. He started to repay the favor by fighting to defend him, showing up just when things were starting to look bleak. His best friend had even made a pact with him - one would fight for the other, the other would fight for him. They would use their fists for each other.  
Then changed the factors of the equation even more.  
He did not know when it started, but his best friend was slowly becoming more and more independent of his big fists - no longer needed those big fists to defend him in moments of danger. His best friend fought better and better for himself, and for those he wanted to keep safe.  
Somehow, the equation had been reversed - his best friend started to protect him.

The time was coming when he could no longer use his fists for his best friend.

It hurt to feel that way, to know his best friend no longer needed him around to fight. It was almost insulting - his whole life was in those big fists of his, in the use of their power to protect and fight for what needed to be protected and fought for.  
It was painful to no longer be needed.

And he loathed the time when he would no longer be needed.

Then a voice called to him and snapped him from his thoughts. His best friend's sister, sitting next to him on the sidewalk, impatiently repeated her question - she had asked him about his idea of what death was like.  
He simply regarded her - this young girl so much smaller than him that kept calling him "uncle" or "old man" out of habit - with a shrug. But he told her, anyway, the answer to her question. Her disbelieving glare was a little like her brother's, he noted. Someday, she could become as strong as her brother, if she set her mind to it.  
Someday, she too would no longer require his big fists to protect.

He loathed the time he would no longer be needed by any of these people he used his fists for, but he could still take comfort knowing that, definitely, that time was not upon him just yet.

* * *

_**No reviews to throw here at the moment - all were covered in the last chapter.**_

_**Had to hurry up and upload since I had it with me.**_

_**Oh well, it fits.**_

_**To HW's friend Jade - thanks for the third opinion, I guess. Though, I figure it was kind of unfair to go to you for it as we both did. Thanks for your input, anyway - I appreciate any kind of feedback I can get!**_


	14. For Better or Worse

_**Good news: I'm still going strong! Ideas really hit when you're sleep deprived!**_

_**Bad news: Ideas really hit when you're sleep deprived...dang it, one more all-nighter and I'll start seeing double!**_

_**WARNING: No, it's not another sick twisted view I'm about to caution over. I'm just here to state that this here chapter is NOT a yaoi. I may not approve of my family's belief system, and I may write about gay men from time to time, but the idea of IshidaxIchigo yaoi does not sit with me. Neither does ChadxIchigo, for the record, so let's drop it.**_

_**( Inspired by Band of Brothers and every other War-type movie/novel I've had the chance to see. )**_

* * *

He could recall how confused he had been in his younger days, when the war soldiers in the television dramas of the time acted on a strange, intimate level. His father had loudly declared them to be proud and gay, but his mother had hurriedly chastised the man, calmly reassuring her alarmed little boy that no, it had nothing to really do with homosexuality - it was something outside all of that; something that only those who experienced it could completely comprehend.  
He was still unable to understand, but he had let it slide.

As he was introduced to the Urahara "family" of Sandal-hat, Tessai, Jinta and Ururu, he found himself perhaps a little disgusted by how close the Sandal-hat and Tessai were - like one was the "father" of the family, and the other was the "mother".  
It made him a little sick just thinking about what it could possibly imply.

Rukia had been indignant about it when he brought it up to her once - she explained to him that it wasn't just a matter of love and passion that a pea-brain like himself could comprehend; not until he had been through his first real war or battle for life. He had felt insulted, seeing how he had fought for his life so often.

When Ishida showed up, he did not know what he thought of that guy - he was practical, prissy, high-class, arrogant even. And he hated death gods. There couldn't be a single connection there - they just hated each other's guts. And on that day Ishida challenged him to a duel, all he could think about was kicking that prissy little sissy-boy back home to his nannies and frills and white-and-blue clothes.  
When things went awry, they had then fought back-to-back. They were still fighting, just not against each other anymore. Somehow, they had ended up on the same side, and seemed to understand that.  
Still, both could not really account for why Ishida put himself up to saving him as he did that day.

The next day, they were back to arguing, but things had changed by then - he found himself concerned and he instinctively felt it necessary to have Ishida join his pack for lunch. Both were still at odds, but had opened up to each other.  
Something had happened that day on the field, when they fought for each other - something they both were not exactly grateful toward. Especially since Rukia got so smug about it in school, despite all the angst.

Then, when Rukia was arrested, he had taken it upon himself to rescue her. In fact, so had Chad, Orihime and Ishida. With the legendary Shihoin Yoruichi as their guide, they set off to the land of the dead - so to speak. They had all fought their own battles, made new comrades, and eventually succeeded. Rukia did not return with them, but their mission was considered done.

The next day, when he returned to school, he went back to thinking. He thought about what his mother had said, and about what Rukia had said, about soldiers. He thought about what they told him, about there being another kind of love that was outside romance and family love.  
He held those thoughts as he raised his arm to bash Keigo's facial features in.

Then he saw them sitting together by the window - Chad, Orihime and Ishida. The three who fought beside him without obligation. The three that risked their own lives for his and Rukia's.

He thought about how he had, once, found it confusing and disgusting for two people to share a love he had no idea about; once, when he had not experienced it for himself and could not even come close to comprehending what it meant.

As he automatically pulled up a chair to sit with his three friends by the window, he stopped thinking altogether.

* * *

_**Score one more for the sleep-deprived.**_

_**Once again, nothing else to throw here.**_

_**I'm on a short-lived rebound, I guess.**_


	15. The Thing About Cockroaches

_**Good news: Finally down to Jinta and Ururu's turn! Thank you to Howling WereWolf for the suggestion, and to Howling WereWolf's sister for the idea. Ururu...cockroach...I showed Marco a picture and explained the concept to him; poor Lexi looked so confused when she found us two grown men rolling on the floor and laughing like idiots.**_

_**Bad news: I may be down again indefinitely soon; Jimmy and I are planning to head down to see the Niagara Falls one more time while I clear my head (family got a little pushy with converting me again recently). Sorry to do this, but I really need to get away from them before they start dragging me to someone else's doorstep with "THE END IS NIGH" signboards.**_

_**And sorry for the sloppiness of this; I often wonder if I could've done any better if I stopped fazing off like this...**_

* * *

He did not recall how long he had been living in the Urahara store, neither could he recall if he had come first, or Ururu.

What he definitely knew, was that ever since who knew when, Ururu reminded him of a cockroach.

Where to start?

Well, there was that ridiculous hair.  
So self-conscious, she was, that she was to constantly trying to hide her face with her fringe, thus resulting in those two long parts that were split down the center to turn in opposing directions. Like cockroach feelers. He had spent many good days tugging at them, and it came as a surprise that they did not fall off - they just continued to hang over her face in the two cockroach feelers that they were.

Then, there was the whole surviving thing - cockroaches seemed to live forever; nothing could get rid of them. Not a meteorite hitting the planet, not the Ice Age, not volcanic eruptions, not even Global Warming was doing anything to them - they just got up and kept on going.

Ururu was a survivor, definitely. No matter what he did to her, she bounced back; always the same old, depressed, timid Ururu that he pushed around and heckled. She had been built to be a fighter, and she did her job pretty well; no hollow could take her down, ever; not a one.

Ururu could, definitely, live forever. She could outlive all of them, if she tried - Old Man Urahara, Tessai, even him. Heck, she could outlive his grandkids, if she tried. He had tried to interfere with that logic often, with constant pulling of hair, knuckling of temples and whatever he could get away with.  
He never could understand it completely, but to him, Ururu was one who seemed to exist always.

So, he did not get why he had nearly lost it that day when Ururu jumped to meet that Arrancar Bull as she had been taught - or "programmed", in an ugly way of saying it - to do. She should have bounced back, kicked buffalo hide or something like that. He had never seen her roll over for any hollow before.

But then the confounded creature went against all logic and nearly killed the cockroach. Right before the confounded creature himself got pulverized.

But, even then, she continued to survive. Old Man Urahara and Tessai brought her back, made her as good as new.

And she continued to live - she continued to be her timid, depressed, shy self who never smiled.  
She continued to exist.

She was definitely like a cockroach, but only one thing seemed to be different - while cockroaches were hated by everyone else, she seemed to hate herself - not in a serious way, but so much so that she was so shy, so timid, so very afraid of offending people; so depressed.

But she continued to exist.  
And on the day Old Man Urahara and Tessai deemed her fit enough to go outside, he decided to teach her the Home Run Victory Dance.

Even cockroaches deserved to celebrate their small victories.

* * *

_Citatus_: Spot on, my friend! Guess it turned out even better than I thought it would. Howling WereWolf just kept on going about Chinese New Year and this being Year of the Dog (she got upset with me for losing track of zodiac animal ) and Chapter 12 just formed in my head. I'd have had it out sooner, but I'm a great procrastinator; even my boss wants to reach over and smack me over the head with a rolled up Classified at times.

_Renleek_: Well, I'm glad you liked them. I had an advantage where Chapter Eight was concerned - especially after I finally completed _In Smaller Proportions_.

_ShinakaStar_: Ah, right. Another Chad-Karin...hmm. Well, I think I might have some ideas, but I'll rustle something up...I hope.

_ice illuser_: Now that I think it over, Chapter 14 was the second most planned, while Chapter 12 was the one that went through the most revision. Chapter 13 was a little rushed, but I'm glad how all three turned out - even more so that I'm getting good feedback about Chapter 12; really makes a guy's day.

_Nelia-chan_: ... Thanks for the tip; now I know how much I really don't want to hear that song.


	16. There Goes My Baby

_**Good news: Here's the Chad-Karin I promised! ...well, it's from another guy's point of view, but it's definitely Chad/Karin. (originally planned for something Hitsugaya-centric inspired by Celeste's Bleach Drabbles collection, but it didn't work out so well. I'll try again if I can.)**_

_**Bad news: none to report; the preparations for the Niagara Falls trip are going nice and smooth, enough so that I have time to sit back and bring these chapters in. Sure feels great.**_

_**(Despite the title, this story has little to do with the movie, or the song by the Drifters; Trisha Yearwood's version hits better, though.)**_

* * *

He never thought about it before, but perhaps he should have.

Then again, he had hardly noticed, anyway. There were so many things happening that he was often distracted from the minor details that should have otherwise been so very important.

When she found her first favorite cap, he had not really noticed it - it was just another cap, just that now it was a red color, and she no longer tucked hair behind her ears when she wore it. She had continued to wear it every time she went casual or wanted to enjoy some sports, but nothing seemed that different to him.

When she found her first favorite sport, he had not really noticed what it was - he always figured she liked throwing a ball here and there; been that way since they were really small. So, now, she just liked to kick it around instead of throwing it; nothing seemed that different at all.

When she found her first group of friends, he had not gone out of his way to find out what kind of kids they were, or even come to know their names - they were just her classmates who did not mind having her as part of their group, and actually enjoyed her company; even if they were all mostly boys, nothing seemed that different at all.

When she first started feeling uncomfortable and unwell for reasons he did not know, he had been concerned about her health, but never thought about what it could imply; she just had a gift like he did, just not as strong - she did not even wish to acknowledge it and get involved in anything to do with what he did. So, when she first started to casually point out new dead visitors floating around their household, started complaining of headaches when something bad was about to happen, he let it slip so long as it didn't affect her health too much; and nothing seemed that different at all.

When she first started to go out on her own, he had not really noticed if this was alright for a girl of her age - he just figured she wanted some alone time, seeing she was just setting foot into the transitional years that would change her from a girl to a young lady. Definitely some things there to not poke his head into - and things he wished his father would not poke his head into. The youngest, although going through the same phase, was unlike that, but he figured that was because they were two completely different people, despite being twins. Nothing seemed that different at all.

Then, when she had her first real boyfriend, he noticed.

The bell had rang, and the door was opened to reveal none other than his large, mountain-of-a-man best friend standing there in better looking clothes - without the usual Hawaiian print - and holding a small bouquet of flowers. The youngest had hurriedly asked him to wait just a little longer as she dashed to fetch her sister. And their crazy father had been sizing his best friend up, asking him the strangest questions and giving him the most absurd advice.

Then he noticed when she stepped out and toward them, looking rather uncertain in the dress that the youngest had picked out for her - indeed, that was something one did not see everyday.  
His best friend had held out the flowers to her, and she had accepted them while looking greatly uneasy around the crazy old man that was her father. She had then urged his best friend outside and toward wherever they were going, asking him some questions that no one else could understand the relevance to.

He had stood there, in the doorway, watching them go with his jaw dropped. He barely heard the crazy father swooning and crying out to their mother's poster that his child had found love. He barely listened when the youngest asked him why he looked so shocked; hadn't he noticed before?

Truth was, he never did. And now, he wondered - when did that happen?

When had she grown to be taller, no longer the small girl that would have easily rode on his best friend's back?

When had she gained that elegant dignity in her step, walking ever so gracefully beside his large best friend?

When had she even come to fit in that dress he had never noted her to wear or even _own_ before?

When had she come to smile like that at the gentle giant who was quiet and hardly showed much expression on his face?

When did that happen, he continued to wonder, no longer gaping as everything slowly sunk in. Why hadn't he noticed any of this before?

And as they disappeared from view, and as he went back inside, closing the door behind him, he wondered - when did that happen?

When had his baby sister grown up and gone?

* * *

reviews 


	17. FILLER: The Dead Monkey Sketch

_**THE FILLER CHAPTER - A PARODY OF MONTY PYTHON**_

_**Good news: I'm currently in the hotel me and Jimmy booked stay for in Ontario, and we'll be going to see the falls tomorrow (hopefully, no pictures; don't like cameras that much). I've got limited internet access, but enough change on my person to afford time to upload this. Hope the rest of you are doing fine.**_

_**Bad news: Hotel beds...can't sleep on 'em to save my life. Woke up tired and sore this morning.**_

_**On a side note, this was unexpected, even by me! I got bored on the ride here, so Jimmy pulled out a script copy of Monty Python's "Dead Parrot Sketch" he rustled off the web. I got so amused, I just had to write this.**_

_**Sorry if you were expecting something more serious; I just couldn't resist.**_

* * *

The twelfth division Captain of Gotei 13 often wondered why none of the other divisions had ever schemed up something as ingenious as his plot. Then again, he was a genius, after all - he could pull it off if he wanted to.

Thus started his Soul Slayer Repair Shop.

* * *

It was just another day of peace at work, when the shop door slid open to reveal none other than the lieutenant of the sixth division.

"Hello? I wish to register a complaint."

The counter staff, busy polishing something, did not respond.

"...hello? ... Miss?"

The counter staff turned around to reveal none other than the Captain himself, and owner to the store. "What do you mean, 'miss'?"

Renji swallowed nervously and one step back. "...um...your pardon, sir. I think I have a cold."

Captain Kurotsuchi looked hard at the lieutenant - causing him to squirm a little - then went about business. "So, what is this about?"

"Like I said, sir, I wish to make a complaint."

"We're closing for lunch, boy. Come back some other time."

"But, sir, it's about my soul slayer; you fixed it up for me just half an hour ago in this very boutique."

Captain Kurotsuchi scratched his chin thoughtfully, then recalled. "Ah, yes! Zabimaru... What's wrong with it?"

Hesitantly, Renji held up a limp looking monkey with a dangling snake's head at the end of its long scaly tail. "Well, sir, he's dead."

Captain Kurotsuchi studied the motionless lump of shaggy hair and scales for a bit, then shook his head. "No, see, he's...resting."

Renji twitched.  
"Um...no offence intended to your person, sir, but I think I know a dead baboon with a dead snake on his butt when I see one. And I'm looking at one right now."

"No, no, he's not dead," the Captain insisted. "He's resting! Remarkable Soul Slayer, Zabimaru, isn't it? Beautifully workmanship!"

"...Captain, the workmanship really doesn't enter into this. He's stone dead."

"I told you, he's _resting_."

"...so, you want me to wake him up, then?"  
With that, Renji held the limp creature in his hand up and yelled into its ear.  
"Hello, Monkey King! I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts standing in a row! Big ones! Small ones! Some as big as your-"

In a swift move, Captain Kurotsuchi reached forward and smacked the side of the baboon's tail, causing it to swing like a pendulum. "There, look now! It's moving."

"No, he's not, sir!" Renji protested. "That was you whacking his tail!"

"Me? Whack that baboon on the tail? Never!"

"Sir, I saw you plain and clear."

"I never, _never_ did anything," the Captain insisted, looking quite calm.

Renji twitched, then snapped as he started to shake the baboon roughly.  
"HELLO, MONKEY! Testing-testing-testing-TESTING! Hear the Sixth Division's nine o'clock ALARM CA-A-A-ALL! Time to WAKE UP!"

After repeatedly bashing the baboon's head in, he placed it in the standing position on the counter. The baboon promptly flopped to its side and sagged.

"... Now _that_, sir, is what I call a dead baboon with a dead snake on his butt."

After staring in surprise at the uncouth behavior, Captain Kurotsuchi hurried with his retort.  
"No, no... No, he's stunned."

Renji would have fallen over and hit the floor.  
"..._stunned_, sir?"

"That's right, you abusive owner, you! You stunned the poor creature, just as it was rousing from its rest! See, Zabimaru stuns quite easily, and-"

"Forgive me, sir, but I've definitely just had about enough of this nonsense. Zabimaru - sad to say - is definitely deceased, and when I took him back and paid for your services half an hour ago, you assured me that the reason why he wasn't even twitching was due to him being tired and shagged out following a prolonged yodeling session."

"...well, then...he's...he's..."  
The Captain twiddled his thumbs swiftly under the table - out of sight - as he tried to think of what to say next in defense to his case.  
"He's...ah...pining."

"_Pining_, sir?"

"Yes, you know...for that lady down by west...you know, Martha Stewart."

Renji sputtered. "Zabimaru's _pining_ for _Martha Stewart_? He's never heard of Martha Stewart in his life! Why would he pine for _her_? _What kind of logic is that?_"

"Don't shout at me, boy."

Renji swallowed as he recalled his position. "Ah...sorry, sir. But, look, at least tell me this - why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got him home?"

"Well, Zabimaru prefers keeping on its back. Remarkable soul slayer, isn't it, lieutenant? _Lovely workmanship_."

Renji was silent, then held up the baboon again, this time taking the tail in the other end.  
"Look, Captain, I took the liberty of examining Zabimaru when I got him home, and I discovered the only reason why his tail was still intact and not falling apart in the first place-" -he tugged it slightly, and the tail came off with a "pop"- "-was that it had been _duct-taped_ there."

There was a long, heavy silence in that shop, as lieutenant and captain stared at one another and the soul slayer.

Then Captain Kurotsuchi composed himself.  
"...well, of _course_ it was duct-taped there! If I hadn't duct-taped that confounded tail down, it would have fired its way out of the monkey's butt, tore off a few good hands, and _WHOOSH_! _Up-up-and-away_!

"Sir, this chimp's tail isn't "whooshing" anywhere if a Quincy fired an arrow into his arse! He's bleeding _demised_!"

"No, no! I told you, it's pining for Martha Stewart!

"He's not pining for _anyone_! He's _passed on_! _No more_! This chimpanzee has _ceased to be_! He's expired and gone to the Animal Department of Soul Slayer Paradise! He's a _stiff_! _Bereft of life_! _He rests in peace_! If you hadn't duct-taped his tail into place, both of 'em would be housing _baby flies_! His metabolic processes are now _history_! He's off the twig! Kicked the bucket! Shuffled off his mortal coil! Snapped his life thread! Shimmied down the branch and joined the bloody invisible Tarzan's Gorilla Squad! _THIS IS A SOUL-LESS SLAYER_!"

Once again, more silence.

Renji froze a little and cleared his throat carefully, all the while sweating slightly.

"...sorry about that, sir."

Captain Kurotsuchi regained himself as well. "Well, guess I should replace it, then."  
Turning, the captain took a quick glance behind the counter.  
"Sorry, lieutenant; I've had a look around the back of the shop, and, as it turns out...we're clean out of primate soul slayers."

Renji looked shattered, but nodded nonetheless. "...I see... I get the picture."

"...well, I _do_ have something in the caterpillar department."  
Reaching under the counter, the Captain pulled out a small, ugly golden thing with a baby's upper torso and a writhing, worm-like body.

Yet another pause of silence.

"...does it talk, sir?"

"Not really, no."

"...hardly any kind of replacement, is it?"

"... No, I guess not."

"... Well..."

They lapsed into yet another uneasy silence, both unsure of what to really say next.

Once again, it was Captain Kurotsuchi who broke the silence.

"If you don't tell anyone about this, I'll extort some pictures off Kuchiki Rukia."

"...Rukia comes by here?"

"Quite often - she's after a bunny type that we've yet to discover."

Renji looked around, then nodded. "Yeah, alright. Sure."

* * *

After a while, the twelfth division Captain started to figure out why no one else really tried this before.

And by the time Aizen started to put his plot into solid action, Captain Kurotsuchi's Soul Slayer Repairs was shut down.

* * *

reviews 


	18. The War Is Done For

_**Good news: I actually finished an assignment! I've been holed up in the office with Jimmy, Sarah, Dick, Angela and Woody, working on that final script for the client (story's something about a donkey or a dog, and a funny looking thing that talks; the rest is trade secret). I haven't seen the boss this happy for a long time.**_

_**Bad news: Dick was true to his name, and Jimmy, Woody and I reacted like a bunch of kids. That was last Wednesday.  
We all pitched in for the crack in the pool table, the snapped stick, Sarah's plastic Simba mug, and Angela's new desk trinket - a garden gnome with "shovel ur own dumb doo" written on its spade in black marker.**_

_**I hated that gnome.**_

_**Extras: Yet another AU - inspired by Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie, the Alamo, the alimony and Whose Line Is It Anyway. I love that show.**_

* * *

_**"Do you want to save your family?"**_

He was not supposed to get involved - he had no place in a war. Not now, not ever.

He was a mere civilian. A farm boy, to be exact. Farm boys had no place in a war as old as time itself.

Yet, war had found its way to the farm boy's doorstep, and she had to admit, no one could really take the blame for that.

She had appeared in his field while tracking the enemy, and he had not been pleased for several logical reasons to his position. Unfortunately, his logic was not her logic. So different were their worlds, that the rules that bound one were unheard of to the other. They argued, nearly traded blows, and argued some more. So much precious time she could have - _should_ have - spent on tracking the enemy's movements, and she had wasted it all on trying to educate a farm boy about the war.

_**"Of course I do. Is there a way?"**_

She had heard it coming when it did - a gunshot that rang out loud and clear across the field.

Then there was the screams from the house, and the farm boy panicked. She had nearly lost her cool herself, when she caught on to the situation in an instant.

The enemy was attacking the house, a house belonging to ordinary peaceful civilians. Civilians who could not defend themselves against the better armed, better trained enemy.

And she had let them slip by her to do so.

She had no choice - she had to make up for her error; she had to step in and stop the enemy once and for all.

Even though the enemy outnumbered her easily. Ten to one was the best estimate of a figure. Still, she had a chance.

Until the farm boy flipped and charged into the fray headfirst.

_The idiot_.

Taking the shot for him hurt like hell itself. It also was absolutely uncalled for. But it was all she needed to snap the farm boy out of his reverie, all she needed to make him be quiet and listen for once.

Even though it hurt like hell itself.

But now they were stuck, and they had to do something. Anything.

Anything in order to survive.

_**"There is one way..."**_

The boy had froze when she used her good arm to extend her rifle to him.

Her trusty repeating rifle, a stock above the rest, customized to suit her needs by the base's blacksmith himself.

And she was handing it over. To a farm boy.

_**"Take my rifle and ammunition, and fight."**_

She was not supposed to be doing this; she knew that very well. To break a gun in the line of duty was inevitable. To lose a gun in the line of duty was a punishable blunder.

To give up her gun in the line of duty was treason.

She risked much with her actions - she risked her rank, her reputation, her name, her clan's name...

She risked her very life.

_**"I don't know if this is the best solution, but it is all we have left to work with."**_

Was this truly for the best? She would never know.

There would be a moment in the near future, where she would have plenty of time to recall this turning point of no return. She would eventually reach that moment, and use the time to play that fateful scene over and over again in her head, wondering what if - would things have been different if she handled them differently?

Could she have handled them differently?

It did not really matter. Not now, anyway.

They both knew.

One was a soldier in a war. The other was a farm boy on a field of trampled wheat.

But they both knew.

And they both understood.

_**"Give me your gun, soldier."**_

_**"It is not 'soldier'. I am Kuchiki Rukia."**_

Their conversation was cut off swiftly with more gunfire.

The farm boy did not hesitate to grab her rifle, nor did he dally over seizing the belt of ammunition as he bolted for a better vintage point. One he never found as he stood up and pointed the gun at the enemy, sticking out of that field like a sore thumb and handling a weapon like a scythe in harvest.

It looked like such a lost cause, yet it looked like it was working.

Blind fool's luck, perhaps, but it was all they needed.

She watched him unload her precious ammunition in abandon, spraying it forth upon the ignorant enemy that should really have known better.

The battle ceased before it could even start, and the fight was won.

But the idiot had gone and wasted all her bullets in doing so.

Every last one.

_**"I am...Kurosaki Ichigo."**_

If her shoulder did not hurt as it did, she would have wrung his scrawny neck and popped his head off its hinge.

That confounded, _idiot_ of a farm boy called Kurosaki Ichigo.

The boy who was now her "temp replacement" of a soldier.

The war was so, so done for.

* * *

_**I apologize for not replying to any reviews in the filler chapter - I was kind of in a hurry at the moment.**_

_ice illuser_: Glad you liked that one; I was a little hesitant with the whole cockroach thing, but it's good to know that it works.

_een nihc_: Thank you; I just wish I had time to fix those grammatical errors in Chapter 13.

_ShinakaStar_: Well, thank you for inviting me to your community; I've never been one for live journal, but I hope my contributions were worth something.

_Ellenlome_: That is correct! And I'm also glad you liked that chapter; took me a while to straighten it out, and I'm quite proud of it myself.

_Behold the Crazed Fiend_: Thanks for the review; I'm not entirely sure how I feel about Chapter 6 myself, but I try to do what I can.  
...and yeah. As it turns out, she _does_ like Bleach. We were having an office lunch one time, and I managed to bring it up; she promptly knocked me upside the face for the shoddy work I did for Ryuuken.

_Jade Eyes_: Indeed, it is.

_fullmetal philosopher_: Thanks for the tip - many people have dropped me this same newsflash. I'm sorry, y'all; I am!  
I'll have to make up for that slip up with a "Hitsugaya grows up" drabble sometime, but I'll need some inspiration to make it work. Wish me luck.

_ShinakaStar_: Weird is right - I don't know what I was thinking, but it was funny.

_heka_: I like cookies, virtual or no. Thank you very much. Howling WereWolf, too, is a fan of the Hitsugaya-Hinamori pairing; I wrote those for her. Other pairings are Chad-Karin (the most recent one written for ShinakaStar), and yes, the Gin-Rangiku (written for Howling WereWolf's friend Jade - nice girl; has been very helpful with her feedback).  
There are Renji-Rukia implications (done at Howling WereWolf's request on behalf of her sister), but this is one coupling that I can never be absolutely certain about. Sorry, y'all.

_**Thank you all for your reviews - your feedback has proven helpful to my progress as a writer.**_


	19. Visiting The Relatives

_**Good news: The day off has really helped. Jimmy and Woody decided to have a bowling duel, and Dick "owes" the ladies compensation lunch, leaving me as the only one with no real plans...except to update my stories.**_

_**Bad news: Marco's job isn't going so well, and it's got the house depressed. Hopefully, he'll get his second breeze in good timing.  
Until then, I can only count on Lexi to have a good supply of cookie dough at hand (the way to a man's heart is truly through his stomach).**_

* * *

The only real part he is undecided upon, is the wait.

Waiting is both his most loathed, yet most enjoyed part of these visits. To sit here and stare across several acres of stone markers, green grass and good soil, he can't decide if he really likes it, or if he really dislikes it.

It's a big waste of time, definitely. He could be doing so much else, instead of sitting here and waiting.  
It's the same every year - he would be in the middle of another patrol when he would spot the large clock hanging on a pillar of the train station. He would proceed to drop everything and run for the rendezvous point, for fear of being late.  
He never was late, now that he notices it; no matter how little time he thinks he has on his side, he is the one who ends up doing the waiting.

It is awfully annoying to think about - knowing that he was honoring his side of the deal by being considerate enough to show up on time, even early, and yet always have to wait for the other party to show up.

But he can't always bring himself to get angry at the other; after all, _he_ is the one who is a death god, meaning he is the fast one. The other is merely human, and has to use the speed of his human capabilities to get there.  
No one's really at fault here.

It still pisses him off at times, though.

Those are the times he dislikes waiting, knowing that he could be doing so many other things instead.

But then there are the other times, when he simply parks his rump on a stone marker and looks around him, admiring the serene calmness of everything.  
He can see it all - the peace, the tranquility, the quiet, the _life_. He can feel the life coming from everything around him: the grass below, the creatures living underground, the birds in the air, even the ones who are no longer have life. Ironically, _they_ are the ones most animated, most _lively_.  
It's on these occasions that he is in no haste to send them on their way to Soul Society; let them be for a few moments longer, hovering in a state of ambiguity over their circumstances.  
Besides, he has an appointment to keep.

The wait ends as it always does, with the sound of footsteps crinkling through grass and pebbles, and hard concrete paths. Heavy footsteps, even for a human.  
He grins at this point, because he knows those footsteps; he could recognize footsteps like those anywhere, anytime.

He then turns and looks over the markers and grass, over at the pathway up the hill he remembers so well; this same pathway he used to run up in his younger days, also around this same time in the year.  
He sees his visitor now, running like hell itself is on his tail, looking for the world like he might just trip and cause an earthquake with his fall. He smirks, seeing for the moment the other's panicked expression.

Then the other spots him, and the expression hardens over into a disgruntled impassiveness. The run slows into an almost lethargic stroll as he makes his way toward him, his hands fidgeting for a good spot to stay and not finding it.

He only watches the other approach, his smirk too disappearing, enjoying this moment of mock seriousness between them.  
It is just like last year, and the the year before that, and the year before that also.  
It is just like tradition.

And just like their tradition, the other pauses before the stone marker and glares at him for a moment. Just like tradition, the other snorts and tosses a bouquet of flowers before the marker.

It's the same old flowers thrown there every year, too, with the same old colored paper wrapping.

And it's the same old attitude the other uses as he tries to look indifferent about all this.

It is just like tradition, and just like tradition, the other greets him as he always does at this time every year:

"Here you go: your stupid flowers."

As usual, he frowns at this and snorts as well, barely looking at the offering as he answers the other. "You know what I think about 'my stupid flowers'."

The other follows up with his shrug - that sad attempt at being apathetic learnt from _her_. "Tell that to Grandma, not me."

Then their "masochist" charade ends there, as the two are silent and trying to keep their front for just a while longer. One older, one younger, same tradition.

He is once again the one to break the silence as he prods the bouquet with a sandaled foot. "Speaking of which, how _is_ Karin doing, anyway?"

The other relaxes his large frame and starts to move his hands as he relates the latest about her to him. And he watches with a feeling of nostalgia, because he remembers this animation within the lad - this animation that had come from his kid sister. That, and the red cap he wore with the bill facing backwards.  
He can also see the power in those big fists, and the Mexican coin dangling over his collarbone, that had come from his best friend.  
And he can see the awkwardness in the boy, trying so hard to appear aloof despite his overflowing dam of teenage emotions. That awkwardness that had come from him.

This is only interrupted by the usual complaint over how Chad won't just quit while he's ahead, to which he frowns in disapproval and takes it upon himself to reprimand the youth. "Watch it, upstart; that's my best friend _and_ your grandfather you're talking about."

"You know what I mean: he's getting too old for all this; Mom, Dad, even Grandma thinks so."

"That's the way he leads his life, that's the way your father leads his life, and that's the way _you_ will lead your life. So let him _live_ a little longer, damn it!"

"Alright!"

Satisfied, he leans back.

Then the other is done and nods to him, passing the baton. "So...does your job still agree with you?"

He snorts and waves dismissively. "Same old, same old. By the way, Rukia wants to talk to you, too; she'll drop by later."

"What did you or any of my great-godfathers do this time?"

"Nothing; she probably just wants to know if you're taking care of Chappy's great-grandkids properly."

"They've started their own warren in my room."

"Tell her, not me, damn it; I don't care about the stupid rabbits."

At this point, they are both simply chatting now, all pretenses dropped as they talk about their family - those important people in their life who are either still alive or have passed on in the process of decades past.

With all these waits of those years, he is not sure if he likes it, or dislikes it.

All he knows, is that each hurry to make it on time, each wait that seems to drag on forever, each conversation that follows...

In the end, it is all worth it.

* * *

reviews 


	20. Count to Three, It's Okay to Think

**Good news**: Marco's doing much better now. He's still concerned about his job, but he's got his second wind and is determined to fight for his keep until the very end. The old guy sure makes us all proud.

**Bad news**: All this while, my ignorance had me assume Yasutora was Chad's surname. Revision of his own Wikipedia article set me straight quickly, though. Apologies to Mr. Kubo, and many thanks to Ynhockey, CarrerCrytharis, Anaraug, Bushido Brown, Pinoyartist99, YurikBot, Orethaen, SpionK0p, Tjstrf, Phamli, Epocalypse, Steelmaverick, Pinochii, Tawkerbot2, Lancini87 and all other unspecified participants who created this article and brought it up to date.

**Extra**: I've changed my format; I received a critic that the foreword and after-word were rather bulky to look upon, and not many people actually stopped to read it anyway, so I shrunk them.

Also, an additional section has been added in gratitude to Howling WereWolf for being ever so helpful. Enjoy.

I took the time to catch up on what the latest Bount arc had to offer. Personally, I do not like it; it looks like vampire ninja role-playing fan girls from an English Neverland took over the set and script. I appreciate them giving Chad more screen time, but it's disappointing to watch. It is not my intention to offend anyone, but I thought I should mention this first to explain why I will refrain from writing anything Bount arc-related.

For the benefit of the doubt, Sunset Swish's "My Pace" grows on you. I like that song; it's actually what inspired this chapter's theme and title.

* * *

It was another of those days that were becoming more and more frequent in occurrence. Days when Chad awoke to a peculiar sense of exhaustion that lingered for a long time. Days when he could not bring up the strength to get anything done.  
Days when he felt exactly how old he was.

Chad disliked these days, but he did not complain. It was a fact of life, and he had to face it. Even if he did not like it.

So it was that this day, instead of following his routine of tending to the small garden he had started in the front yard, he merely sat on the step and stared out at the road, one or two of his grandson's rabbits hopping around and stealing a few nibbles from his carrots again.

Sometimes, he wondered why he was trying so hard, and why he continued to live his life in such a way. He did not fear death, and it was times like this when he wondered what it would be like to lie down to rest for one final time.

Or perhaps the stress of living to this ripe old age was just getting to him. After all, that's what they all told him - his wife, his son, his daughter-in-law and even his grandson.

He wondered if they were right, and maybe he should just let go and let be.

It was then that the door swung open, causing the rabbits to twitch their ears a little before fleeing hurriedly.

Sure enough, the tall figure of his grandson emerged, thumbs hooked into his belt and a familiar red cap on his head.

"Kengo! You forgot the flowers!"

As the huge boy turned and caught the small bouquet, he whined in protest. "Aw, Grandma...!"

"Don't make me bring out the wooden spoon, young man. Now, go."

"Yes, Grandma. Bye, Grandpa."

Raising his hand in a stationary wave, Chad watched the boy cross the steps in one leap before jogging down the path, one hand tight on the bouquet and the other pressing the cap against the top of his head.  
And a Mexican coin bounced on his collarbone.

And he remembered.

He remembered when the boy had been a mere infant, born some time in the summer after Ichigo's first death anniversary. His son had thrown a great birthday bash for the child, inviting everyone who was related in some way - friends and family alike. Ichigo had shown up in a faux body - along with Rukia and several other Shinigami - to join in the festivities.  
And Ichigo had handed him that coin, a substitute to make up for the one that was lost in his fight with Captain Kyouraku a long time ago.

And when his son and daughter-in-law were transferred to work in America, the then five-year-old Kengo was left in their care. The parents came back every holiday - and every vacation they could afford, but otherwise, the child was raised entirely by his grandparents.

So when Chad caught little Kengo attacking one of his peers from elementary school, he swiftly interfered and carried the child home, tucked firmly under his arm. Karin had been furious, and the boy was grounded for two weeks.

Chad remembered that day, when he found the boy sulking on that same front step while feeding Old Chappy and Chappy Jr. bits of trail-mix. He remembered how he sat with him, and the silence between the two.

He remembered, most of all, the very moment when he took off the coin from around his neck and held it up to the child. He remembered how he had pressed it lightly against the boy's forehead for a moment, before securing it around the child's neck.

And the words, same words that had been passed down from two generations ago unto him, by another man who understood and empathized; by a man who taught him to grow up.

_**"Learn the reason why you have those big, strong fists. This charm will help you."**_

Someone, a long time ago, had taught him how to use his big fists, with all their strength and all their power, to make a difference in life.  
He wanted to teach this boy the same.

For a moment, he smiled as he remembered what had happened the next day, when Kengo came bounding up to him with a big grin on his face, his clothes ominously rumpled and dirt-stained.

_**"Grandpa! I was gonna go say sorry to Tatsuya like you told me, but I then I saw him getting bullied, so I went over and helped him beat the snot out of the guy, and now he's my best friend!"**_

The boy was consequently grounded for a third week.

But he eventually matured, and finally learnt the reason for himself. At his own pace, he became his own man.

And as he watched his grandson grow up, Chad learnt as well.

To live, to rest, and to think, all were at his own timing; his own pace.

Until then, he was still Chad the protector, Chad the teacher, Chad the father, and Chad the grandfather.  
He would keep on protecting, keep on teaching, keep on being a father, keep on being a grandfather.

He would keep on existing.

* * *

_**"Count to one, it's okay to live.**_

_**"Count to two, it's okay to rest.**_

_**"Count to three, it's okay to think:**_

_**"It's okay to live at my pace..."**_

* * *

**Shinigami Comical World (version Rubber): The Birthday Present**

Ichigo was indignant; right after his formal initiation into Gotei 13, they had shot him down at point-blank, and sent him straight to Division 11 as a normal squad member.

_"Sorry, Kurosaki-san, but rules are rules. And according to the rules, you have to **earn** the rank of Captain or Lieutenant.  
"Don't worry; the trials are coming at the end of the year, so you can go for it then. Good luck!"_

_Good luck, my arse..._

It was later that day that Ichigo was first introduced to his squadron leader, a stout, grinning fellow, with missing teeth, a couple of scars and a buzz cut, who held position as the 20th seat.

"You must be the new guy! Call me Hiroki; I'm your squad leader. If you ever need someone to talk to, a little advice, a helping hand, a pat on the back, know that I'll be right here to beat some sense into you!"

Ichigo stopped listening the moment he spotted something dangling around the squad leader's thick neck.

"Hiroki."

"Yes?"

"What's that?"

The man stopped talking long enough to hold up a Mexican coin that held an uncanny likeness to Chad's. Well, except for the background design, but it was but a minor detail.

"My lucky charm," Hiroki claimed it as. "It's been with me since I found it on some dead guy's body when their republic was first established, since Emperor Maximilian I, since the _new_ republic's establishment, since the monetary reform..."

"Hiroki," Ichigo interrupted, his face set in sullen determination.

"Yes?"

"Gimme that coin."

Roughly half an hour later, Kurosaki Ichigo was formally recognized as the new 20th seat of Division 11 and leader of his own mini-squadron.

And during the party in honor of his grandnephew's first birthday much, much later, he gave Chad a shiny, polished gift of his own.

* * *

**Additional**: The shinigami Hiroki was named after Hiroki Yasumoto (Chad's Seiyū), Chad's grandson Kengo and Kengo's new buddy Tatsuya were named after Kengo Ōkuchi and Tatsuya Isaka, the actors who played Aizen and Ichigo in **_Rock Musical Bleach_**.

In consequence to what I did in Chapter 19, I was given the suggestion of naming the boy after Naofumi Yoshida, Chad's actor in Rock Musical Bleach. I was initially against this (I didn't tell her, of course) because I wasn't sure if I was going to come back to this OC. When I was certain he would be used again, I asked Sarah to translate the YouTube clips Howling WereWolf recommended for viewing. At first, I thought I would take the hint and name the boy Naofumi, but that was until I saw Mr. Ōkuchi's close-up as he sang his first solo as Aizen.  
Choosing to name Chad's grandson after Mr. Ōkuchi was a personal bias - he reminded me too much of a kid from Singapore I met many years ago, complete with those thick black plastic spectacles and mock seriousness. Mr. Yoshida reminded me more of Kenny, which kind of made me squirm in my seat.

Apologies to Mr. Yasumoto, Mr. Ōkuchi, Mr. Isaka and Mr. Yoshida.

* * *

**ice illuser**: Rather. I was given the suggestion of giving farm boy Ichigo a scene with Captain Hitsugaya, but I have yet to form it decently. I have the idea, but not the draft.

**ilovenerds**: Hello to you, too; that was thoughtful. Thanks for the comment.

**denazt**: Yes, it is. An error that I failed to notice until it was too late. Unfortunately, I'm usually too lazy to backtrack and replace chapters, so that mistakes branded in place. And I'm glad you liked the chapter; it took a few headaches to write.

**ShinakaStar**: Heh, old and snarky Ichigo; never thought of it that way before, but now that you mentioned it... Well, hope this chapter is to your tastes as well.

**JadeGem**: oh for the love of oats, I was raised Christian...well, overly-zealous-door-to-door-prophesizing-in-the-name-of-Jehovah Christian. Mercy killing's the best shot I can take a whack at.  
And by the way, good luck on your assignment site, and thank you having been so helpful in your feedback (Howling WereWolf tells me all about it every time we get to talk).


	21. Building Blocks

**Good news**: I've successfully finished one entire fan-fiction, and I've even thrown in a second one that was already complete. I've suddenly got all my options free to do what I want to do.

**Bad news**: I've suddenly got all my options free to do what I want to do. Trouble is, what I want to do is update a fan-fiction, and the biggest roadblock is writer's block on that one last fan-fiction I can actually continue writing. Oy.

* * *

He remembered some time, way back, when there was a little boy.

The little boy's parents dropped him off by his grandparent's home to be babysat, while they took a few minutes to themselves. And the grandfather showed the little boy a set of building blocks, a few of them already piled up into a small tower.

Delighted, the boy picked up the remaining blocks, and he started to build. Higher and higher, the tower grew, and the boy kept building. At one point, though, the tower wobbled. The little boy didn't mind it, and kept on building. The wobble was still there, and became more evident as the tower's height continued to increase.

Because of that wobble, half the tower nearly fell over. Several blocks slid from the top many times before they finally settled. Yet, the boy persisted, and coaxed block after block on to the top of the tower.

It was a good two, maybe three hours after, when the little boy was finally finished. And there, before him, was every single block piled on top of each other, into a tall, magnificent tower of colors. It wobbled to the right a little, but it was a sight to behold, and quite a feat for one so small.

The little boy smiled, his expression full of pride for what he had made.

Then the little boy suddenly reached forward and kicked the base of the tower.

With a loud rumble, the tower fell, blocks scattering this way and that, not a one left on top of another.

The boy laughed and clapped his hands, sitting amidst the mess of blocks.

After that, the little boy picked up one of the blocks and set it down in the biggest empty space left on the carpet, starting to rebuild his tower.

The little boy continued to stack his blocks, allowing the tower to take form once more.

Then there was another wobble in this tower.

And as the boy finished that tower, he kicked it down as well.

And, just as before, he picked a block and rebuilt.

The little boy continued to rebuild, over and over again, and continued to demolish, over and over again, the tower always on his mind.

The thoughts of the just-right tower of blocks, without a single wobble.

He remembered that little boy, and he remembered what the little boy taught him then; a lesson that would always be engraved into his soul, molding him into the person he envisioned himself to become.

And on the day he removed the faux glasses from his face and discarded them back into the flawed land that was Soul Society, he did so with a finality.

That flawed land's time was done, and its tower was doomed to fall.

And from the ashes and debris, he would pick up the pieces and start over.

He would refine, remake, rebuild, renew...he would recreate the land of Soul Society.

His new land would be without a single flaw; without a single wobble.

His new world that he would make...would be _perfect_.

* * *

**Shinigami Comical World (version Rubber): Home for the Weekend**

After a long week of bashing in hard skulls, disintegrating Hollow masks, and running all over with the rest of Squad 13, Kaien was glad for his day off. He loved his job, but it was nice to be able to drop in on his family once in a while.

So, as the weekend ended, he dropped in his reports and left the office for Rukongai's outskirts.

His house was not hard to find; his sister had promised not to redecorate until he came back to help her. And help her, he would.

His aid would start...by babysitting his little brother as Kuukaku caught up with Yoruichi for some...girl thing.

"Oi, bugger; what's that you're up to, eh?"

Little Ganjyu looked up over a mouthful of wood block, then resumed stacking other blocks of the same material.

Automatically, Kaien reached over and removed the block from the child's mouth, wiping it dry carelessly against his shinigami robes before setting it back down. The younger boy did not protest as he continued stacking.

"...what is that you're making?"

"House," Ganjyu declared proudly.

"...alright..."

"Big brother help?"

"Sure."

The two sat on the hard floor, Kaien's "help" consisting of passing blocks to the engrossed Ganjyu, as the child stacked.

Finally, they both could sit back, looking upon a tower in the shape of a trident's head.

"...so are we done?" Kaien asked.

"No," Ganjyu answered easily.

"No?"

Ganjyu nodded solemnly and pulled out a round ball with a sparking fuse on the end.  
"We go boom now."

Kaien promptly reached forward and extinguished the spark between two fingers. "No; our sister will kill us."

Ganjyu whimpered, his face downcast as he held the now dormant ball in both his small hands.

Kaien regarded the little figure, then sighed as he left the room. He came back with a box of matches. Two strikes later, the fuse was sparking again.

The door to the house slammed open, and Kaien ran out into the fields with his little brother tucked firmly under one arm.

"... Heck, we were going to redecorate anyway."

* * *

**Cryptic Innocence**: Thanks for the reviews you sent my way. I like feedback, especially good ones.

**ice illuser**: Tricky, that extra piece; I don't know how much humor I can squeeze into the ends, but I'll try it.

**Tsubasa Aska**: Very close; you only got the yellow dog wrong.

**ShinakaStar**: Your welcome; it's fans like you who encourage me to keep trying with these.


	22. I'm Still Here

**Good news:** The cease fire between Lebanon and Israel, of course. Thank goodness for the end of the momentary madness.

**Bad news:** The aftermath; some politicians just talk too much...

At first, several potential main characters ran through my head: I thought of the most obvious choices - Aizen, Gin, Tousen, Urahara, Yoruichi...  
Then I tried to work with them, but it didn't turn out well at all; the last thing I needed was another OC; I find OC writing too tiresome.

Thus, I write now, about someone else we all know and remember. Two, actually.

_Inspired by the latest news regarding Japan's current issue, and based on the song by Vertical Horizon, with notes taken from **When an Auntie Comes a Callin' **(apologies to wolkevonpinguin and Flypipe)_

* * *

There is a time in a young man's life, when he does a deed that will be remembered; a deed that follows him through the rest of his life.  
Whether it is a righteous, heroic deed, or a terrible, wicked deed - the deed will be done. It will be part of who he is for as long as he lives.

And when he dies, it will become part of his memory; all who know him, and all who know of what he did - of his deed, will remember for him.

Those who honored him, and honored what he had done, they will take this deed in their own way, and remember him as the greatest man to ever walk the earth. They will speak of him as a deity reborn among the people, a saint who lived among mortals as their teacher, a noble warrior to defend those who could not defend themselves, a proud fighter who fought for everything that defined true justice; a legendary hero immortalized by stories.

Those who were offended by him - by his deed, they, too, will take this deed in their own way, and remember him as a target of resentment, dishonor and disgrace. They will speak of him as a man who turned his back for his own selfish desire, as a man who arrogantly disregarded protocol for the sake of his own worthless pride, who tossed the lives of his own people upon the gambling table; a cad who would never pay his debt in full.

For those who have ears; those will hear.  
And as they speak of him, their audience hear, and their audience listen. The story is passed on to the next generation that follows.

And with it, the emotions.

For those who hear, they will take the spoken words as the truth; for those who listen, they will come to feel the same way. Even if they did not know the true course of actions - was not of that time - they will take it upon their self to make sure the right thing is done.

And the right thing...is it truly right?

He would never know.

For he was not of that young man's time, and he would never be that young man.

He would hear stories from witnesses, but he would not know how much is fact, and how much is emotion. He would wonder for himself, who the man really is, and what really happened. He would wonder about the deed, about how it manifested, about its impact on others, and about all that mattered with it.

He would wonder how he could ever account for a deed that was not his own, for the sake of a man he would never truly know and would never truly become.

For he is not that man; instead, he is his own.

He knows that, for precise certainty, but he will still wonder.

And as he stares at the grave and thinks, he wishes he could understand, use that understanding to fix everything, and finally know the truth.

He wishes for all that to come, for when they do, all would be atoned for, and the burden he inherited would be off his back.

It is a wishful thinking, but it is one he harbors now and then.

Especially now, as he spots his reflection and runs his fingers through his hair.

He also wishes it hadn't been dyed black; it looked awful against orange eyebrows.

* * *

**Shinigami Comical World (version Rubber): Of Hairrowing Experiences  
**_An adaptation from the timeframe between Chapters 14 and 15 of **When an Auntie Comes a Callin'**.  
Second apology to wolkevonpinguin_

"What's the matter, Ichi… Kaien-dono?" asked Rukia.

Ichigo decided, for now, he was not listening. Instead, he was going crazy.

Someone had come into his room and dyed his hair black, without leaving a single trace of evidence.

He definitely needed peroxide for this mess; even if it killed his hair, he'd have to fix this, somehow... What would people think?

Then he noticed Rukia giving him a very funny look, and examining him in utter confusion.

Until realization hit, anyway.

"... Ichigo, what did you do to yourself?"

"I did _nothing_!" Ichigo protested. "Somebody did this to me-"

_-and I think I know who.  
_Ichigo finished his musing in his head as he recalled Matsumoto with pink hair...talk about some prank pulled on Inoue's aunt...

...and a hyperactive, chittering Hitsugaya, eating enough sugar to put a hummingbird into a diabetic coma.

_I'm gonna hurt that little brat..._ He decided. _I'm gonna kill him, I'm gonna bleed him, and I'm gonna make him eat his own..._

He stopped himself promptly with a slap to his face.  
No, he had to be calm; he had to think as rationally as possible.

He had to find a scapegoat to sacrifice in the tenth division captain's place.

Then his temp certificate started to croak in alarm.

_... Excellent._

* * *

**JadeGem**: Exams, eh? I detested those when I was in school. Best of luck to you, and the kid who lurks and talks but never reviews ( you know who I mean ).  
Oh yes, and thank you for reviewing _On The Way to a Smile: Case of Leonhart_. For a moment, I thought no one ever would. 


	23. Free Spirit

**Good news**: I'm pretty much still breathing and kicking and twitching, which means I'm still typing. Thank goodness for this brief stroke of thought.

**Bad news**: Bad case of writer's block came upon me recently; doesn't help that the team's rushing to meet the client's deadline.  
Ah well, as one would say: "Que sera, sera".

* * *

There was something about Yoruichi that just bothered her at times.

Although, of course, Yoruichi was her ideal of perfection - the ideal of charisma, intelligence, agility, grace, anything and everything, so much so, that she was overwhelmed in the lady's presence - there was just...something.

Ironically, without much pondering, she knew what that something was.

Time and again, Yoruichi was the caring, funny, social person that anyone could relate to, talk to, and be friends with. Yoruichi was like a person magnet; even the icy Byakuya was a friend of hers.  
But as much as all this was present, while Yoruichi was so close, she was also so very...distant; so out of reach. One second, Yoruichi was there, making casual small talk and smiling away all worries, and the next she was gone, the last sign of her being a furry black tail and the discarded "uncomfortable" clothes.

It bothered her, but it did not irk her.  
No, not at all.

In fact, the truly irksome matter, was where Yoruichi usually distanced herself _to_: Urahara Shoten.

That run down, tattered looking thrift store run by the exiled Urahara Kisuke.

And that was what had to be irksome, that Yoruichi would turn and slink away from the luxuries of Soul Society and Sereitei for the pathetic presentation of a shop that managed to resemble the home of a Rukongai peasant.

And it bothered her that Yoruichi would distance herself for _that_. For _that house_ and _that house's owner_.

Thus, when Yoruichi sent her to the living world to send a message to Urahara Kisuke, she made a deliberate note to mention the irksome bother of all this to the ones who should really be concerned.  
Never mind tact.

Urahara's assistant had been rightly indignant at her criticism, and looked ready to fold her in four equal parts before she even got through half of her speech. That was when Urahara himself excused the incensed man and took her aside to talk.

"...this really isn't about how bad my housekeeping is, is it?"

That question had come out of nowhere, and it had effectively put a stop to the long list of critic she was about to continue. Then he, without looking her way once, asked the second question:

"It's about the cat who comes here, isn't it?"

Again, she had nothing to say.  
Instead, she regarded him in brooding silence as he flipped open his paper fan and admired the view out of the open doorway.

"She doesn't stay here for very long, either."

He paused, and reached up to remove his hat. The hat found a place on his lap, and his flattened blond hair sprung out slightly, free from the weight. And his now visible eyes - still not looking her way - were almost wistful in their expression.

"Cats are like that, I suppose. No matter how much you love them and try to keep them in one place, they can't do that for you; their place is out there, roaming around on their own. Cats are such independent, free spirits, and you can only hope they love you enough to come back now and then.  
"Free sprits are so amazing, sometimes..."

And as he drifted off, she noticed there, near the front door, a small tin bowl that looked like it had been very recently cleaned and refilled with fresh milk. And yet, it just sat there, without the expected visitor coming in to drink from it.

"You miss her when she's away, don't you?" he asked.

She knew then, that she had something to say; at least, something to express agreement or disagreement. But again, not a word came out as her attention diverted to the rough floorboards that the red-headed boy had not cleaned properly.

She didn't see Urahara finally look her way, but she knew it - felt it - when his smile changed into something more genuine.  
More genuine, and yet more wistfully sad.

"I miss her, too."

* * *

**Shinigami Comical World (version Rubber): Furry Stalker**

Yoruichi did not know if she should be flattered, or indignant about this matter.

For five blocks now, in the relentlessly pouring rain, she was being tailed by an orange _kitten _that refused to be shaken off.

And in all honesty, she had pulled every trick of the book - she had even jumped into the churning river and attempted to swim away, but the junior had managed - though not without a noble, hero-worthy struggle - to come right after her.

He didn't call to her once - not even in a threatening way - but the stalking was starting to get creepy.

She finally stopped and sat down, eyeing him carefully as he, too, sat down and stared her way.

"Go home, kid; you're not my type," she stated bluntly.  
Never mind all tact.

For several beats, there was a tense silence; neither moved from their spot.  
Then the little one spoke up.

"... I'm lost... I need directions."

If cats could raise eyebrows, she would have.  
For now, she noted the kid before her was awfully sheepish about the whole matter, ears flattened against the back of his head.

Her own ears turned slightly. Then she relented.  
"Alright, where do you live?"

Several minutes later, the kid was rewarded for his efforts with directions, the right bus to hitchhike, and a reassuring smile. And then he was off and running; quite the hurry for one so small.

Yoruichi went on her own way, headed back for the Urahara Shoten that was a few days' journey away, knowing she may not see that young one again.

After all, Karakura was miles and miles off from the nearest Sohma estate.

* * *

**ice illuser**: I'm sorry about that one; Jimmy chewed me out for it as well. "Too worked up with emotions to be reasonable", I'd call it.

**ShinakaStar**: Glad you liked it; that one took some afterthought to piece together properly; ironically, that idea came together after reading a comic made in tribute to September 11th.

**Whynter**: I can barely recall what that chapter's about ( I'll revise it later ), but I'm glad you enjoyed yourself.


	24. Fairytale 2: The Boy and the Little Bird

**Good news**: I'm back again for the next chapter, better known as the second fairy tale. Hoorah.

**Bad news**: I took forever and two ideas. Darn you, Bount Arc. At least Ichinose died in an embarrassing way.

**Extra Notes**: It's been a while since I touched anything Bleach-related. I'm just grateful enough that, when I decided to check on the progress of the anime on YouTube, they finally killed off those idiots and ended the nonsense at last. Unfortunately, the movie doesn't look at all promising. Especially with that strange new girl that will show up.

For heaven's sake...

* * *

A boy remembers a childhood, and a garden of splendor. As a young page, the boy would follow his lord's most trusted samurai to pay respect to the man who owned this garden. The man had been friendly to the boy, and allowed him to leave the meetings early, to wander the compound.

The boy remembers, some time in spring, when he saw a nest high in the trees, on a sturdy branch, and the little birds that sang for their supper.  
From then onward, he would patiently wait for the mother bird to fly away before climbing the tree, keeping a respectful distance, to observe the nest and the little birds in it. As he heard them sing, and watched them in their valiant struggle to survive, his own heart swelled with an emotion he could not describe.  
The boy continued to climb the tree and observe the little birds. Sometimes, when he was lucky enough, he brought his favorite watermelon with him. Sometimes, when he was generous enough, he crossed the branch and offered some to the little birds, watching with satisfaction as it disappeared down their throats.

As the boy grew up, he watched the little birds grow up. As the boy learned to hear the wind against a well-forged blade, he heard the little birds start to sing in more melodious tones than simply for their supper. And as the boy neared the end of his apprenticeship, he watched the little birds finally spread their wings as they tested the air; the boy remembers, fondly, how he couldn't wait to see them fly.

When the boy was finally granted his swords as a samurai, he visited the man again. He had looked up to the branches, and noticed that the birds were gone, leaving nothing but an empty nest and a few broken shells. He had continued on his way without a second glance, and came to greet the man in his house. That was when he saw the man had a fancy birdcage by his table, and there in the cage was one of the little birds. The man explained that he had noticed them recently, and decided to keep one of the stragglers as a pet. The boy had said nothing, but he stared morosely at the little bird as she chirped merrily at the man, still young and uncertain of her new situation. The boy had left shortly after that, the little bird's songs filling the air.

The boy continued to visit, noticing that the little bird was always by the man's side. He watched as the man pampered the little bird, showering the little bird with praise and treats. His resentment grew as he watched the little bird respond with happiness. Often, he despised the man for caging such a beautiful creature. Often, he dreamed of the day he would free the little bird and watch her fly away, _free_.

Then the day came when the man turned traitor to his lord. The man disappeared, leaving his home of so many years, and took nothing with him but two samurai. The boy's lord had summoned him to lead a squad to the place, to investigate something he did not understand completely. And when they arrived, he saw the little bird, still sitting in the cage, waiting forlornly for the man to come back. As the samurai departed from the abandoned home with its garden of splendor, the boy took the bird with him.

When he was finally alone for the night, the boy gently removed the bird from the cage, cradling her carefully in his hands. The bird did not struggle, sitting there quite tame. He carried the little bird outside, and held out his hands to the sky, waiting. The little bird did not spread her wings, did not even look up at the night sky and the stars; she remained limp in his hands, head leaning against the flat of his palm, her heart broken by the man who had abandoned her. The boy stood there through the night, waiting. When morning came, he finally withdrew his hands and brought her back inside.

The boy continued to despise the man, blaming him for what he had done to the little bird. He continued to resent, refusing to accept that the little bird would never fly. He continued to rise in rank, hoping for the day he would meet that man again, and personally confront him. He continued to strive for the day when he would right this wrong that changed the destiny of a free spirit, no matter how minor and insignificant it seemed to anyone else.

And he continued to walk outside with the little bird in his hands, holding them out to the sky and waiting patiently. He continued to dream of the day when the little bird would finally lift her head to see the sky that awaited her, and spread her wings to test the air once more.

He continued to dream of the day when he would see her fly.

* * *

_**Written after attempting haiku. I learnt something from it, though - I don't know shitake mushrooms about haiku, and I suck at it.  
Also written after amused thought at how little is mentioned of Hinamori anymore. The way she seemed to disappear made me feel a slight loss, as though she did not really matter...that she was considered insignificant in the turn of events, regardless of whichever arc was going on. I still remember the manga entry, when Hitsugaya swore to make Aizen hurt for what he did, and I decided it deserved at least some mention.**_

* * *

**Shinigami Comical World (version Rubber): **

"... Well?"

Chad was speechless as he studied the cage before him. Not too long ago, that had been the cage which housed Shibata the parakeet. However, once Shibata had moved on to the next world, the parakeet was no more as well, having lost the spirit it played host to. Since then, the cage had been empty, no more but a memory of the little bird he had fiercely protected.

Now, his classmate had somehow managed to acquire and insert a snowy white budgerigar into that cage. The budgie stared back up at him, wide black eyes unblinking as it cocked its head to one side.

"Come on, Chad! Give it a chance!" Keigo sputtered, waving his hands desperately without knowing what else to do with them. Perhaps he should have listened to Ichigo's advice and not done a thing about it, but he had felt generous and friendly, and Mizuiro had refused his treat to the movies. So bought the bird he did.

The budgie hopped impatiently on the spot upon its perch, as though waiting for Chad to do something quickly. Chad did not answer immediately, but finally reached forward and opened the cage door, offering his finger. The bird happily accepted the invitation and hopped aboard, flapping for balance as Chad withdrew the finger again.

Keigo grinned, smug that Chad seemed to like his present.  
"There was this guy who didn't want it anymore, so he put it up on eBay! I'm surprised I got it so quickly and without competition!"

Chad stared down at the budgie on his finger, as it proceeded to groom itself. Then the budgie looked back up at him, and puffed its chest and leaned backward.

"**_O RLY?_**" it screamed in a booming voice for one so tiny.

The following silence was so pregnant, it dropped and gave life to sextuplets.

Chad slowly returned the bird to its perch, closed the cage door firmly, and resumed sitting there in a stoic manner.

"... Asano."

"Yeah?"

"Take it back. Please."

* * *

_**Also, I claim nothing over O RLY owl. For more information, please look up any search engine; it's bound to turn up.**_

_**Once again, I confuse even myself, and I apologize to my audience.**_

**JadeGem**: Howling WereWolf exaggerates - sure, I was a little miffed, but I wasn't whining. Nope. Not one bit. Maybe I ranted, but no whining. Still, thanks for the review; it means a lot to me.

**Love-Lies-Bleeding**: Yeah, they do get too little spotlight; so much so it's getting harder for me to come up with anything for them. I'll keep trying, though - something's _bound_ to turn up.

**nyaranran**: There are those who find that chapter weird, but I'm personally proud of that one; for one of my earlier works, it was also one of my better works at the time.


End file.
